


Dating Hannah

by dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, HPFT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap/pseuds/dirtydeedsdonedirtcheap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Neville wanted was to date Hannah Abbott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Liquid Courage

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling who we all know is the creator of Harry Potter and William Shakespeare, I don’t own anything of his either. Anything you don’t recognize belongs to me.
> 
> Note: This chapter has the use of alcohol but all the characters that are drinking are of age.

** Chapter 1: ** **Liquid Courage (Firewhiskey Fridays)**

The night started innocently enough. It was their unsaid monthly ritual ever since the war ended to meet the first Friday of the month and a have a ‘mans night.’ Of course they weren’t really men. Ronald Weasley still had his Mum give him warm milk right before bed. Mrs. Weasley was constantly coddling Harry Potter as well. Neville Longbottom…well, his Gran had been treating him like an infant ever since he _was_ an infant. Yes, the only ‘man’ at the table was Dean Thomas and that really wasn’t saying much.

 

“Go fish.”

 

“Have any fours?”

 

“Twenty-one!”

 

“We’re playing poker,” Harry grumbled.

 

He glared at the three that surrounded him and then shook his head with amusement. Ron, Dean and Neville all shared a look and then placed their cards on the wooden table. They weren’t exactly experts at playing Muggle card games. Dean normally played well but he had had several drinks, they all had, and it was messing with their heads.

 

Harry’s glare didn’t affect them. In fact the three burst out laughing and started making jokes about the scar on his forehead.

 

“Oi!” Harry shouted, placing his cards on the table and taking a sip from his cup. “You’re all terrible mates. I’m going to…I’m going—“ He hiccupped as he tried to think of what he was going to do but he couldn’t concentrate as their laughter filled his ears.

 

“Do what?” Neville questioned, a silly grin plastered on his face. “Pop on by the Malfoy’s? You can have tea parties with Draco—“ he taunted, Harry turned a bright shade of red.

 

Harry groaned and slid in his chair. He removed his spectacles, throwing them haphazardly on the table and pointed a finger at Neville. Of course it wasn’t _actually_ Neville who he was pointing at. He was looking at him _but_ shaking an angry finger at Dean. After his fifth drink he kept mistaking Dean for Ron and kept calling Neville ‘Seamus.’

 

“Seamus,” he said, licking his lips. They were dry and cracking but they tasted like firewhiskey. “Don’t make me…don’t make me do something…” he said. He couldn’t continue his sentence.

 

Next to him, Ron patted Harry’s back soothingly. He was the only one that was remotely sober, having the least amount of drinks, a measly three, but Weasley’s couldn’t exactly hold their liquor all that well either. His face was bright red and his eyes slightly glassy as he rubbed Harry’s back trying to shush him.

 

“Calm down Harry. Try and sober up would you? Ginny will have my head if you come home stumbling and mumbling again. Almost put her hair on fire last time,” Ron mumbled.

 

He wanted to add Harry acted like a blubbering idiot whenever alcohol induced and always told Ron how much he loved him. It was rather uncomfortable for Ron unless he drank more than five drinks.

 

Harry swatted Ron’s hand away from his face, burped and then grinned. “In my defense Dean,” he said, poking Ron’s nose, “she deserved it.”

 

It wasn’t really funny but the four laughed anyway.

 

“Where is Seamus anyway?” asked Neville who was also trying to balance a playing card on his nose.

 

“Stuck with the old ball and chain!” Dean answered with a grin. He was trying to drink and talk at the same time so firewhiskey dribbled down his dark chin and stained his red shirt. He looked down at his chest with bewilderment, forgetting the conversation he was having.

 

“Pathetic!” Ron muttered after Dean’s response.

 

“Hey!” Neville shouted, holding up his glass. “He’s the one that sent us the drinks. What were we doing before we were drinking anyway?”

 

It was a good question and they all paused to rack their brains to try and remember. None of them could which only made them all break out in laughter again. The sloppy laughter filled the kitchen and found its way through the house of Augusta Longbottom who was trying unsuccessfully to sleep.

 

Harry stretched—or was that Dean? Neville tried to remember if Dean was the one with the scar on his forehead. He was…right? Well, Neville yawned and grabbed a sweet off of the table that was littered with bottles and wrappings.

 

Randomly, Ron blinked, his blue eyes becoming slightly clearer and he swiped at the sweet Neville grabbed and angrily stared at him.

 

“You…you need to tell her how you feel!” he shouted out of nowhere. His voice was suddenly filled with anger and the other three jumped at the loud decibel and glanced at Ron with terrified faces.

 

“Do it! Do it! Do it!” Harry yelled, banging his fists on the table.

 

Dean crinkled his nose and scratched his chin, “Tell who what?”

 

Neville took it upon himself to answer Dean’s question. “I like Hannah,” he confessed.

 

Harry responded with a squeal, Ron responded with a burp and Dean’s brown eyes scanned the room they were in forgetting where and why he was there.

 

“I like Hannah Abbot,” Neville said with a pitiful moan. He let his head drop on the wooden table and groaned at the pain he now felt. “I will not succumb to peer pressure!” he shouted, picking his head up and throwing his hand in the air.

 

It was only Ron that remembered the conversation they were having. Harry was staring at Augusta’s china cabinet while Dean was examining the wall.

 

“Stop being a pansy Neville and tell her how you feel. Come on!” said Ron, who was starting to sober up.

 

Neville sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “What do I even say? Hannah, will you go on a date with me? That sounds about right,” he said with a hopeful smile.

 

He shakily removed his quill from his trouser pocket and ‘accioed’ ink and some parchment. He began to quickly scratch away (Harry wondered with fascination where the sound was coming from while Dean put his eyes on the china cabinet, convinced that the butterfly plates were moving).

 

“No!” Ron shouted. He snatched the feathered quill from Neville’s hand and shook his head. “Are you mental? She’ll read that and it’ll put her to sleep. You need to be fancy.”

 

“Tell her she has a nice bum,” Harry said, rejoining the conversation. His head felt funny and he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes trying to bring some clarity back to him. He wasn’t sure what they were talking about but Harry was convinced everyone had a nice bum in general.

 

“Oi! You’ve been checking out Hannah’s bum?” Neville questioned with horror.

 

Harry turned a shade of red and pouted. “It’s a free bum! It hasn’t been claimed yet.”

 

“You’re dating my sister Harry!” said Ron; he elbowed Harry next to him.

 

Harry, being rather bony, winced and angrily glared at Ron and then blinked.

 

“Who’s Harry?” asked Harry.

 

“I’m Harry,” responded Dean.

 

Ron shook his head. Idiots surrounded him. “Come on Neville…let’s see…use that ancient language, you know, the one your Gran spoke when she was born,” he suggested.

 

Neville scrunched up his nose as if he had just smelled something terribly vile and stared at Ron incredulously. “Are you calling my Gran old?”

 

“Well,” Harry muttered under his breath, “if the vulture hat fits.”

 

“Harry!” yelled Neville with anger.

 

“What?” Dean shouted, perplexed.

 

“I’m Harry!” shouted Harry.

 

“I’m Dean!” shouted Dean. The two stared at each other wondering if they were indeed getting their names right.

 

Neville ignored them and put all his focus on Ron instead. He squinted his eyes, examining Ron’s red hair and red face and puckered his lips. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was indeed looking at Ron or a very bloated Ginny Weasley.

 

“I don’t know any ancient language. Whaddaya mean anyway?” slurred Neville.

 

Ron sighed and scratched his chin as if in deep thought. Actually he really had to burp but it just wouldn’t come out. “Err…Hermione reads to me. Some Shakey bloke. Write this…hello Hannah.”

 

Neville glared at Ron and went to snatch the green feathery quill from him but missed and instead hit Ron’s shoulder, he howled from pain dramatically, which caused Dean and Harry to roll their eyes.

 

“That’s English!” shouted Neville.

 

“No, that’s Spanish!” shouted Harry with a triumphant look on his face. He was just glad he finally understood the conversation that was going on around him.

 

“You know Spanish?” questioned Dean with bewilderment.

 

Ron shook his head and smacked a freckled hand to his chest. “I know Spanish?” he shouted with glee. “I thought I was speaking English! I’m so bilingual.”

 

Dean shook his head, wondering why he surrounded himself with such idiots. He swiped at the spit that was on his face with the back of his hand and darted his eyes nervously to make sure no one was looking while he wiped the spit on his orange t-shirt and then took a quick swig from his cup before saying, “No, it’s American. Howdy folks.”

 

Neville glared at him and went to swipe at Dean’s head but missed and somehow ended up poking himself in the eye. After much laughter from the three, Neville blinked at Dean with rosy red cheeks and tutted.

 

“Shut-up,” he said with a scowl.

 

“Write this,” Ron commanded, “how now Hannah?”

 

“How now brown cow?” Harry mumbled with a laugh.

 

“Are you calling Hannah a cow?” Neville asked with confusion.

 

Still, he listened to Ron and snatched the quill from his hand, scratching away on the parchment, ‘How now Hannah?’ It didn’t make much sense to Neville but at that moment nothing really did.

 

“That’s perfect,” Ron said with a slight hiccup. “How now brown cow? You wench, I desire your company at…at _where_?” he asked the others around him.

 

Harry paused and then proceeded to burp. Dean’s brown eyes were slowly closing and he was leaning dangerously towards the left, threatening to fall right out of his chair.

 

“Dinner,” Neville declared with triumph. “These things tend to happen at dinner.”

 

“Right you are Neville!” Ron said with a grin. Neville squinted his eyes and stared at Ron with confusion.

 

“I didn’t say anything,” he muttered, giving him a look. Ron nodded. In reality he wasn’t hearing too well, he couldn’t understand what Neville was saying to him. His eyes kept drooping and he heard an incessant buzzing in his ears.

 

“Oh, right. Anyway, I desire ye company at dinner. Methinks ye are a voluptuous wench. I shall ravish you. Anon, Neville.”

 

Neville paused, dropped the quill on the parchment and leaned back in his wooden chair to soak in what Ron had just said to him. It felt rather romantic in his mind and he patted his stomach, the feeling of butterflies fluttering inside of it made him smile (really it was just indigestion).

 

“Anon, Neville…what does _anon_ even mean?” Harry asked, rubbing his lightning bolt scar. He was sure it was something terribly evil and was surprised when he didn’t feel a prick of pain in his forehead.

 

“It’s a loving term,” Ron explained quickly. “Harry, I anon you!”

 

Harry scoffed and crossed his arms against his chest angrily. “That’s not a loving term! That’s ridiculous. You’re all ridiculous…anon… _anon_ …”

 

He didn’t want to admit that it did tickle his fancy after all. A big grin appeared on Harry’s face and he blushed as he took a sip from his cup. Ron continued to tell him he ‘anoned’ him, much to Harry’s pleasure.

 

“Alright then!” Neville shouted, he quickly scribbled some words on the parchment. “Anon it is, unless you’ve got any better ideas?”

 

“Don’t sign it Neville!” Dean shouted, jumping out of his mini-slumber. “Sign it Sneville, it has a nice ring to it.”

 

“Sneville? Sounds familiar…alright then…” He made a line through Neville and wrote ‘Sneville’ next to it with a small smile on his face.

 

It didn’t look too bad to him; it was good penmanship and everything. He heard the female population liked good penmanship from their male counterparts.

 

“Send it off! Send it off! Send it off!” Ron shouted, banging his fist on the table.

 

Harry and Dean followed with their own banging and stomping, which caused Neville to shakily rise from his chair and wobble out of the kitchen in search of his Gran’s brown owl. He came back five minutes later, shirt rumpled as if he had fallen and his left shoe missing making it much harder for him to walk.

 

As he took his seat once again at the wooden round table the other three boys sighed and silently looked at each other with their cups in their hands.

 

“What were we doing again?” Dean asked with a slight yawn.

 

Harry responded by letting his head drop on the table and Ron groaned.

 

“I’m not entirely sure,” answered Neville. “I’m tired.”

 

“Ugh,” Ron said, scrunching up his nose. “Harry’s falling asleep in the dip bowl again. I really _don’t_ want his hair in my mouth again.”

 

Sure enough, Harry Potter was snoring lightly with cheese dip coating his messy hair.

 

“That’s bloody romantic. You’re both so romantic. Merlin, I’m jealous,” Neville admitted with a sad sigh.

 

His alcohol-induced state was starting to wear off. The after effects always hit him hard. He usually became moody and angry. Sometimes he admitted embarrassing things about himself (he liked to tell himself he was sexy in the mirror every morning as he got dressed) while others were just plain weird (he had a thing about counting eyelashes).

 

“Of what? Our friendship? Don’t worry I anon the both of you,” Ron said with a slight yawn as he tried to pick up Harry’s head.

 

“Anon? What does that mean?” asked Dean.

 

“I think I’m having déjà vu,” muttered Neville. He blinked a few times, trying to concentrate and recall a conversation that had to deal with the word ‘anon.’

 

“Crap,” said Dean with a groan. “I thought we were playing poker. I haven’t heard of this déjà vu game before. Is it like blackjack?”

 

Before anyone could answer, Harry lifted his head up from the dip bowl. His normally green eyes were now slightly red and it hindered his already poor vision.

 

“I’m leaving before I splinch myself and Ginny has an attack. I anon you all,” he said with a quick crack.

 

“Seriously? What does anon mean?” asked Ron. “Why does it sound so romantic? You don’t think Harry has a thing for me now, do you?” He eyed the empty seat that Harry had been sitting in and sniffed the air around him with distaste as if Harry was still there. “You search for Horcruxes with him one time and he just latches on.”

 

Neville ignored him, lost in his own world. “I really like Hannah. I do. I don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like every time I see her my heart is going to burst out of my chest—“

 

“That sounds really painful,” Dean said sadly. He patted Neville on the back gently and sighed at the thought of his heart bursting from his chest.

 

“You should go to a Healer and get that checked out. Do you eat a lot of red meat?” Ron asked, eyeing Neville’s chest.

 

“Her eyes remind me of gravy and her hair of spaghetti—“

 

Ron grumbled. “I’m hungry. Do you have any noodles? Ooo, dip…uh, why is there hair in this?”

 

Dean thought for a moment and snapped his fingers as the answer came to him. “It’s a new kind! It’s supposed to make you thin.”

 

“I just don’t know how to approach her. You know? I go up to her and I start talking about cabbages and man eating spiders—“

 

Ron shrieked and jumped out of his chair with cheese dip on his fingers. “SPIDERS! WHERE?”

 

Dean’s brown eyes opened wide and he too jumped out of his chair and pointed a shaking finger to the dip. “In the dip! The spiders are in the dip!”

 

Neville continued as if the two weren’t even there and mumbled to himself. “Some awful nonsense about Gran and how she killed the vulture herself and stuffed him for her hat. I think Hannah might be scared of me actually. Tends to shiver a bit whenever I’m around. I think she has some sort of shaky bone disease. Our children will have a shaky bone disease—“

 

Ron paused and then dropped to his seat with shock. “You have a child? Congratulations! Can I be the godfather? Ooo, this is really excellent dip.”

 

“I just want to take her by the shoulders and shake her. I want to shout it out in front of the whole world. I like Hannah Abbot!” Neville declared with vigor.

 

“ _What’s with all the shouting!_ ” A voice yelled from another room. The three jumped and stared at each other, wondering if there was a ghost nearby.

 

“Where is that voice coming from? Mum? Is that you?” Ron shouted back. It didn’t dawn on him that he wasn’t actually at the Burrow but was indeed making a ruckus in Augusta Longbottom’s kitchen.

 

Dean blanched, staring at Ron. “Your Mum is here? Why didn’t you tell me? She hates me! I’m leaving before she gets down here.” With a loud crack he was gone and Ron stared at Dean’s empty seat with horror.

 

“Whoa, he just disappeared right before my eyes. It was like magic!”

 

“I’m going to die alone,” Neville said sullenly. “HANNAH ABBOT! WHY DON’T YOU LIKE ME?”

 

“ _Neville? Neville, what is this shouting?”_

“I wonder,” Ron said, shaking in his seat. “If I can do magic too!” He scrunched up his nose and counted to three, squeezing every muscle in his body before he disappeared with a loud pop.

 

A second later, Augusta Longbottom appeared in the kitchen with a look of concern etched on her old tired face and a fluffy robe covering her magenta colored nightdress.

 

“Neville? What’s going on— _oh_ , Neville,” she whispered sadly as she noticed her grandson who was sitting alone at the wooden table, nursing a half filled cup. “You and your friends were drinking again. What am I going to do with you all? Come to bed Neville.”

 

Neville looked at his grandmother, noticing her for the first time. His eyes were filled with tears and he sighed, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Gran?” he whispered. “I’m going to die alone Gran. What’s the point?”

 

She stopped herself from scoffing and instead shook her head and then ruffled his hair lovingly with her hand.

 

“Oh Neville, you’re going to find a sweet girl once you sober up. A very sweet one that will make sure Harry Potter doesn’t bring any alcohol into the house. Come on Neville, up to bed.”

 

Neville yawned and dropped his head to the table. Muttering quietly, “I think…she smells like…nachos…bed…anon…”

 

He fell asleep with his head on the table. Augusta shook her head with silent fury. Sure she was used to this, it only happened when the boys met for their monthly night together. Their conversations were idiotic and at first made her chuckle but Neville was always left alone with a small sadness in the pit of his stomach that she could never fill. She kissed her grandson’s forehead and whispered a sweet ‘good night’, then walked back to her bedroom, her old bones aching with each step.

 

She didn’t have that many years left. As much as she liked to think she was a strong woman her time would soon come. She knew that and she hoped before it did the lump in her kitchen who was drooling on her dining table would find someone to take care of him.

 

As she laid her head on her pillow sleep quickly overtook her. In the kitchen a dull brown owl swooped in through the open window and dropped a rolled up piece of parchment next to Neville Longbottom’s mouth. The owl pecked his face and Neville sleepily swatted it away. He jumped after realizing the thing pecking him was indeed alive. Alert, he smacked some of the owl’s feathers, his tired eyes falling on the parchment. Groggily, he opened the letter and blinked several times as the owl pecked his hand with annoyance.

 

_Neville,_

_Come by the Leaky around five. We can get something then._

_Anon,_

_Hannah_

Neville stared at the words with confusion and brushed the letter aside. He dropped his head back to the cold wooden table and his snores filled the kitchen. It would take him only ten minutes after he woke up to realize what the letter meant, the events of boys night hitting him like bludger to the head.

 

Ron Weasley was _so_ dead.

 

 

 


	2. Sangria Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. Anything you don’t recognize belongs to me. Also, the play Othello belongs to William Shakespeare. 
> 
> Note: In this chapter a character does indulge in some alcohol, however they are of age. If you are offended please do not read on. Thank you.

** Chapter 2: Sangria Saturday (The First Date) **

****

It was a rather terrible morning. It didn’t make the top three worst days of Neville Longbottom’s life. The first being when he understood what exactly had happened to his parents, the second when he saw Professor Snape as his boggart and the third being the battle of Hogwarts when he was convinced Harry Potter was dead and the world was going to succumb to doom.

 

No, this had to be Neville’s _fourth_ worst day of his life and it wasn’t because of the terrible hangover or the ache in his neck and back that made him hunch over for a few hours that day, no, it was because of the letter he found on the floor that made everything come crashing down around him.

 

Of course, Neville had to wake-up first for everything to come crashing down and his wake-up call came in the form of one Augusta Longbottom.

 

Augusta, or Gran, a woman of a certain age and rather hefty did the only sensible thing she could do when she walked down the stairs and into her kitchen. Her body ached with each step she took and she had to take a few deep breaths as she reached her grandson who was snoring quite loudly, his saliva coating her wooden table.

 

Augusta pulled out her wand from her robe pocket, mumbled a spell very quietly and grabbed the cow bell that now hung near her raised wand, with her free hand she gripped it, paused and then, as if it was an after thought, shook the bell quickly.

 

Neville jumped.

 

He groaned. He flailed his arms around a bit and nearly stumbled right out of his chair as he tried to search for his wand but then decided to instead smack his hands on his ears. If he was going to go up against a banshee or a mandrake plant he would at least die with some dignity. As a second thought he fell out of his chair (on purpose of course) and hugged his knees to his chest. He was hoping his hiding spot would make the loud noise go away.

 

It was an unbearable, _ding, ding, ding_. He was sure his head was going to split open and his brain or whatever was up there was going to fall out and crawl away to safety.

 

“Blerrrgh,” was the first thing Neville said. The ringing stopped as a figure crouched over him in pain and eyed him with displeasure. “G..Gr _an_? You’re a….you’re a silly monkey,” he mumbled, eyeing her with displeasure in return.

 

Gran shook her head and smiled at her odd grandson. “Get off the floor Neville. I’ll get the hangover potion. Hopefully we still have some left or else you’ll have to deal with this the Muggle way. How _unfortunate_ that would be for you,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

 

He didn’t say anything but made a noise as if he was some sort of rabid animal because in truth it would be very unfortunate if he didn’t get a hangover potion. He wouldn’t be able to function. He mentally told himself he would _never_ drink again.

 

Augusta left and came back in what felt like an hour later (really it was only two minutes) and shoved a vial of green liquid at Neville. He eyed it dangerously and smelled it, nearly vomiting. It smelled like toes as he tipped it into his mouth. It took every part of him to not spit it out. It tasted like toilet water (or what he imagined toilet water tasted like).

 

The effect was instant. His head cleared right away and after two seconds he felt like he could think and breathe again. His neck and back still hurt so he slowly peeled himself from the kitchen floor, sending a cheeky grin to the wrinkly woman that was still eyeing him.

 

“That’s the ticket Gran, much better, much better. I swear, I’m never drinking again. It’s strictly tea and butterbeer from now on.”

 

Augusta shook her head. “I’d believe you Neville if you didn’t say it every time your little friends came over.”

 

He grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Sorry Gran. It’s all Harry’s fault…or Dean’s? I really can’t remember.”

 

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him and set her sight on the stove. “I’ve stopped guessing months ago,” she mumbled to herself and then loudly said, “I’ll get breakfast ready. Why don’t you shower? You smell terrible and you look just as bad.”

 

“I smell like man,” he grumbled.

 

Augusta ignored him and busied herself by rummaging through the pantry for some food. “It’s your own fault. Sometimes I wonder Neville…sometimes I wonder…did you even eat anything yesterday?”

 

He paused to ponder her question and properly sniff himself. “I want to say spiders for some reason,” he mused, “but that just sounds odd. Toast? Do we have any toast? Merlin,” he said, sniffing himself again, “I _do_ smell bad. Did I go tumbling around in the rubbish again?”

 

“Not that I know of,” answered Augusta who was pulling out some slices of bread and swishing her wand around to crack some eggs. “It wouldn’t be the first time. You can barely feed yourself…how are you ever going to take care of someone else…”

 

“I feed myself just fine and I can take care of plenty of people. I take care of you. Don’t I?” he grumbled. Neville wasn’t waiting for an answer though. He kept sniffing his armpit trying to recall what he did yesterday. Did they go through the rubbish again? Last time Harry had suggested it. Something about liberation…being a man…smelling like a man….Harry had gone home with a terrible rash that night.

 

Or did they try to make their own potion again? No, Seamus wasn’t there last night. Usually he was the one that wanted to create things, foods, drinks, and potions. It always ended up badly in their drunken state (not that any of them were actually good at potion making) and they usually ended up with slime on their bodies and no eyebrows.

 

“Oh,” Augusta continued, “you take care of me alright. How about that animal of yours?” she questioned.

 

Neville furrowed his brow. “What animal? Oh _Merlin_ , oh no!” he whispered to himself with worry. “Not Trevor. I haven’t fed Trevor. Where is Trevor?”

 

She shook her head again and pursed her lips because her point was proven. “You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your body.”

 

“Why did Uncle Algie have to give me that damn toad?” he mumbled, calling out for Trevor.

 

“Watch your language,” Augusta said crisply.

 

“Sorry Gran. I’m going to shower. Yes, that sounds about right…shower, feed Trevor, my list of things to do.” He got up from his seat and achingly started to walk out of the kitchen. His smell was starting to give him a headache and the thought of a starving Trevor was making his stomach feel queasy.

 

“Neville,” Augusta called out, carefully placing some bacon on a frying pan. It sizzled and the smell of the food wafted into her nose making her salivate. “Why is there parchment stuck to the bottom of your trainers?”

 

Neville looked down to the floor and to his dirty trainers. He bent down and removed the parchment from his trainer and shrugged his shoulders. “What’s this? I didn’t write any letters yesterday…”

 

Food forgotten, Augusta walked over to her grandson with a new found energy. Her cheeks were pink and she snatched the parchment from his hands. “Going through my letters again Neville? What does this even mean,” she questioned, skimming the words quickly, “anon? Wench?”

 

Neville’s eyes popped open.

 

“Give that to me! Give that to me right now Gran!” he shouted. He snatched the letter from her grip and read it twice. His heart started to beat in his chest at a rapid unnatural pace, his hands felt clammy and all color left his cheeks.

 

“Sending letters to some tramp…my nephew everyone…where did I go wrong?” she said. She ignored the pale complexion of Neville and walked back towards the breakfast she was supposed to be cooking.

 

“Oh no! Oh no!” shouted Neville again and again. “Ron Weasley is so dead!”

 

“I’ll blame him for everything then,” said Augusta with a grin. She turned a piece of bacon over and then turned her neck to eye Neville. “What’s the matter then? Tell your Gran.”

 

“I have a date Gran,” he said rather gloomily, “with Hannah Abbot.”

 

Augusta smiled and nodded her approval. “You finally plucked up the courage then? Well, she’s a respectable young lady even though she does work in a filthy bar.”

 

“She works in the Leaky Cauldron and that’s not important! I’m going out Gran,” he said quickly.

 

“What about your breakfast? And shower! They’re going to say I don’t take care of you Neville…”

 

He threw his hand in the air and quickly rushed to the front door. “No time Gran! I need to murder a redhead!”

 

“If you’re going to drop by someone’s house unannounced at least bring them some cookies and then go on with your murdering!” she shouted. Neville was already gone as she rushed to get a plate and throw some stale cookies on it. “Oh!” she grumpily mumbled to herself. “Silly monkey…honestly! Oh! Don’t forget to feed Trevor…I have to do everything around here!”

 

-x-

 

“Who’s knocking on the door! Do you know what time it is?!” Ron Weasley shouted with pain. He groaned and placed his hands on his ears as Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes at her fiancé.

 

“I’ll get it. You just sit around all day complaining about a hangover you don’t have anymore.”

 

Ron ignored her statement and the anger in her voice. Hermione had not been happy that he had shown up drunk out of his mind. He had kept calling her Mione, a nickname they both hated and when she had blown up at him and demanded he go to sleep, he said something along the lines of ‘Mum would never treat me like this,’ which only brought on another argument (which he quickly passed out for).

 

“If it’s a rogue Death Eater or a follower of Voldemort tell them to come back later. Must…sleep!” He yelled loudly. Dramatically, even though no one was in the bedroom, he flopped down on the bed and groaned loudly.

 

Hermione quickly rushed to the front door, grumbling under her breath about Weasley’s and Azkaban. She angrily pulled the door open and glared at the person that was twiddling their thumbs with nervousness and sheepishly grinning at her.

 

“Neville?” Hermione questioned loudly.

 

It seemed Ron, who was supposed to be tired, had rushed into the kitchen and said loudly, “Where is he! Where is he! I’ll kill him!”

 

“Ron!” Hermione grumbled under her breath. She tapped her foot impatiently and then let Neville into her home. “Do you know what he did last night?” she questioned him quickly. “Do you?”

 

Nervously, Neville shook his head. He knew better than to get into a fight between Hermione and Ron. They were always foolish and ended poorly on Ron’s end. He was always hiding off at his parent’s house until Hermione cooled down and apologized. Though, that would normally take a week or two and he always ended up in a bookstore somehow.

 

“Ron!” Neville shouted, regaining his composure. “Do you know what happened last night!” Neville eyed Hermione and asked her the same question, his blood boiling.

 

“No. I don’t know what happened last night. I’m surrounded by idiots,” she mumbled the last part to herself. “I would love to find out! Came stumbling around the house at an ungodly hour and had _hair_ in his mouth. Then he started screaming about eating spiders.”

 

“Where is he!” shouted Neville.

 

“Will you calm down!” demanded Hermione in return. She eyed Neville who was shaking and punching his hand with anger. The fight with her fiancé was quickly forgotten as Neville paced the room.

 

“RON!” he yelled. “RON!”

 

“It’s too early for visitors!” Ron shouted back wearily. Inside the kitchen, concealed from the two, he was pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice and rummaging through the food pantry for some food. “Go home!”

 

“I’ll kill you! That’s what I’m going to do! It’s your fault too Hermione,” he said, pointing an accusing finger in her direction. Hermione turned red and nervously fingered her wand. “Why would you ever read to him? She’s going to think I think she’s a scarlet woman.”

 

Hermione bit her lip and stared at him with confusion. “A scarlet woman?” she questioned.

 

“Yes! Your bloody fiancé with his Shakey language, he’s not welcome in my house anymore!”

 

“Shakey language?” questioned Hermione again.

 

“What’s with all the yelling!” yelled Ron. “Oh, hello Neville.” Ron’s blue eyes targeted Neville’s brown ones and the two stared at each other for two seconds. They both reeked (noted Hermione) and appeared to be in a disheveled state.

 

“You idiot! Do you know what this is?” Neville waved a piece of parchment in the air for the two to see. Ron shrugged his shoulders and Hermione eyed Neville with confusion. She was wondering if he had lost his mind and if she should alert St. Mungo’s.

 

“A piece of parchment?” Hermione responded for Ron.

 

It was the wrong answer. Neville gritted his teeth and lunged towards Ron with a wild-eyed look. “It’s…ahhhh!”

 

“Neville,” Hermione yelled, grabbing him by the collar, “stop shaking Ron!”

 

He let go of Ron who felt woozy and was stumbling around the room away from Neville who was breathing heavily and watching his every move. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

 

Ron shook his head and pursed his lips together. “It’s all foggy,” he said, guiltily. “I remember Harry…no, Seamus? Or was that Dean? No, Seamus was with his girlfriend, right?”

 

“Seamus doesn’t have a girlfriend!” Neville protested.

 

“Yes he does. Dean said so. He was with the old ‘ball and chain.’”

 

“That’s crude,” mumbled Hermione.

 

Neville shook his head. “He was searching for balls and oiling chains. That’s not important! I sent Hannah a love note. One written by you because of you with _anon’s_ and _wenches_ and now I have a date with her. A date because I told her I _anoned_ her or something. What the hell does that even mean?”

 

Ron shrugged and walked towards the glass table in the middle of the room, sitting down on it. He clapped his hands together and grinned. “I don’t know but it sounds bloody romantic.”

 

“It means soon…shortly,” Hermione answered. She was giving Ron an odd look (she was secretly happy that he _did_ pay attention to the books she read to him) and then set her sight on Neville who looked like he was about to vomit all over her white carpet. “You’re going on a date with Hannah Abbot?”

 

“That actually worked?” asked Ron, who was grinning from ear to ear. He felt like he should pat himself on the back. The night was coming back to him now and his ridiculous note was making him chuckle. “You should be hugging me…ugh, what is this taste in my mouth?” He groaned and placed his hand in his mouth, pulling out pieces of dark brown hair. “Why are there pieces of hair in my mouth?”

 

“I’ll get some water. Idiots…both idiots…” Hermione said to herself.

 

“What’s that, Hermione?”

 

“Love you dear!” she yelled back, rushing towards the kitchen.

 

With Hermione out of the way, Neville took a seat next to Ron on the glass table. The two shook their legs in the same tempo and stared at each other, Neville had a sour expression on his face while Ron was still grinning.

 

“Ron, I can’t believe this. How can I go on a date with her? I called her a wench and if she likes that then how am I going to keep it up?”

 

Ron paused to think over what Neville was saying. His eyes fell on the white carpet that Neville’s dirty trainers were leaving stains on. Hermione would definitely have his head for it later. He wondered if he could go on Neville’s date with him. It would be safer than the wrath of germaphobe Hermione Granger.

 

“Well first I’d advise you to shower because you reek and secondly you’ve come to the master. I’m the love healer. I’m great at relationships.”

 

Neville scoffed. “You’ve only ever had two.” Though it was two more than he had ever had.

 

“That’s why I’m so great,” Ron snapped. “You’re supposed to be smart Neville, come on. Let’s discuss this before Hermione comes back. She likes to think she’s so knowledgeable about everything but she knows nothing about women.”

 

Neville scratched his head and stared at Ron with confusion. “But she’s a woman—“

 

“Exactly,” he said, cutting Neville off, “they know nothing about themselves. Now, do you want my advice or not?”

 

Neville shrugged. “I suppose.” He didn’t have anyone else to go to. Trevor was missing and Neville was sure that Harry didn’t spend his time reading muggle literature.

 

“Alright then. First, you need to shower—“

 

“I couldn’t agree more. What the hell did I do last night?”

 

Ron shook his head. “I ask myself the same thing. Then you’re going to get all dressed up, real dapper, you know? Comb your hair, slick it back with some gel. You don’t want to resemble Harry. You need to look debonair.”

 

Neville paused in shock. Since when did Ron know words like debonair? _He_ wasn’t entirely sure what debonair actually meant but Ron seemed to be giving him some solid advice.

 

“What are you two discussing in there! Don’t ask him for any more advice Neville!” warned Hermione from the kitchen.

 

Ron rolled his eyes and elbowed Neville with a grin. “Of course not dear! I know _nothing_ about relationships,” he shouted back to Hermione. “See?” Ron whispered to Neville. “I know just how to please her. Act dumb. That’s some more advice but you’re not ready for that phase yet.”

 

Neville was sure he had perfected that phase.

 

“Yes, but—“

 

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking Neville and don’t do that to her either.” Neville shut his mouth to listen to Ron. “Now, here’s the big thing. _Compliment_ her. Even if she’s wearing some hideous brown pants suit with a matching hat….don’t ask….don’t say you look like dirt sweetheart. You might end up sleeping downstairs for a week without any blankets and no fancy cooked breakfast.” Neville made to open his mouth to point out that he lived with his Gran and not Hannah but Ron interrupted him again. “I said don’t interrupt me Neville. So, what was I saying? Be a gentleman,” he added as an after thought, “but don’t give up all your good traits on one date because then she’ll be really disappointed by the next one.”

 

Neville stared at Ron with fascination. “How do you know all these things?”

 

“ _Witch Weekly_ of course. Don’t you read Neville?”

 

“I,” he wanted to say _yes_ but it was obvious that would be a lie. So instead he said, “What if she wants more of that anon rubbish?”

 

Ron nodded his head to soak up what Neville was saying. He tapped his finger to his chin and then quickly got up from where he was seated and walked over to one of the bookcases that were in the room, in total there were four in the room they were in. He pulled out a book after searching for it and rushed back towards Neville who was squinting his eyes to read the title.

 

“Here, this is one of Hermione’s Shakey copies.” The book was old, the cover was bent slightly and there was writing on it that said, ‘Property of Hermione Granger, age 10.’ It was obvious the book had been read several times.

 

“Othello?” questioned Neville.

 

“A great love story,” assured Ron. “It’s about this guy and this other guy and they’re really good mates and they’re both married but…well, should I ruin it for you?” Neville nodded his head. “Alright then…so, this guy…his name is Igor and he’s friends with Othello and he’s in love with Othello’s wife…her name is Mona but that’s not important,” Ron scratched his head trying to recall what happened in the play. He was certain there was an Irish jig someplace in between but he didn’t remember _why_ there was an Irish jig and figured he should just leave that piece of entertainment out. “The main point is that Igor really respects women. I’d read up on his lines if I were you. Now, don’t get the book messed up, don’t even crease a page. Hermione will know and it’ll be my head on a silver platter for Christmas.”

 

Neville nodded and shoved the book in his trouser pocket haphazardly. “Got it.”

 

Once the book was away Hermione walked back into the room with two bright blue cups of steaming tea and one glass of water. She bit her lip as Neville and Ron stared at her with innocent smiles on their faces. Neville rushed to get up from his spot and towards their fireplace.

 

“Here’s the tea. Neville, leaving so soon? I thought I’d give you some _proper_ advice for your date.” She emphasized _proper_ and gave Ron a steely glace who whistled innocently in response.

 

“Oh no, thanks Hermione but I have to be off. Gran said something about wanting cookies. I think I have all the advice I can handle.” The floo powder was in his hand and he was standing in the fireplace. The hidden book was burning a hole in his pocket and he was sure Hermione knew it was there.

 

“But Neville, wait…just remember this…be yourself. That’s all she wants.”

 

Neville nodded his head and gave her an uneasy smile. “Right Hermione, right. I’ll be off then. Enjoy your tea.”

 

-x-

 

“Just channel Ron, just channel Ron. I’ll murder him if this date goes bad,” mumbled Neville to himself. He opened the door and walked straight into the Leaky Cauldron. His eyes quickly searched for Hannah. Just thinking her name put Neville on edge and made him perspire.

 

“Hello there Neville,” a voice croaked behind him.

Neville turned on his spot, fumbling with his blue tie and eyeing Tom with nervousness. Tom, the landlord, eyed Neville with tired eyes and an amused expression on his face.

 

“Hello Tom. Good morrow…I’m here for Hannah,” said Neville. He leaned towards the bar stool he was near and sighed with relief that he hadn’t yet fallen to the floor and fainted.

 

Tom nodded his head, he was a little hunched over and holding his back with a frail hand. “Ah yes, your date. I heard _all_ about your letter. Very interesting indeed.”

 

Neville turned red and groaned mentally. “Don’t you have tables to clean? Guests to seek?”

 

Tom paused. He didn’t say anything but he could tell that Neville was angry by his remark. He didn’t have the old fighting spirit in him anymore. Normally he would have taken out his wand and hexed a young person if they spoke to him like that. Instead he just nodded his head and creakily walked off.

 

“I’ll never understand today’s youth,” he grumbled to himself.

 

As he walked away a blonde head popped out from behind the bar making Neville jump.

 

“Hello, Neville! I’ll be just a second!” she shouted loudly. There was no reason to shout. There were only three other people in the room who were eating quietly in the corner and Neville wondered why in the world they were wearing coconut bras and grass skirts. He also looked back at Tom who was also wearing a coconut bra and a grass skirt.

 

“Good day Hannah!”

 

Hannah rushed out from behind the bar and tucked a loose piece of blonde hair behind her ear. Her hair was a mess, her apron was covered with food and she was sweating as she took a seat next to Neville.

 

“Evening Neville, are you ready for dinner? I’m absolutely starved,” she patted her stomach to make a point, “Ernie came round today and wouldn’t stop shoving a delicious smelling pie under my nose. It was tempting but I stopped myself. Where would you like to go?” In true Hannah fashion she spoke quickly while doing other things at the same time. She was fidgeting with the elastic in her hair with one hand while wiping the counter down with another and setting her eyes on Neville the entire time she spoke with a big smile.

 

Neville suddenly felt like the room was on fire and he nervously loosened his tie and patted his head forgetting that he had used an entire bottle of gel to keep it slicked back.

 

It felt like a rock underneath his hand.

 

“Err…” He hadn’t thought about where they would go. He had spent his entire day searching for Trevor and practicing the language of Shakey. “I…well…where would you like to… _hie_?” He was pretty sure ‘hie,’ meant _go_. Unless of course _thy_ meant to go. He hoped hie didn’t mean anything too bad.

 

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m knowledgeable on all the food in Diagon Alley but I have to say we serve the best food. Do you mind eating here? I’ll feel bad leaving Tom on such short notice. He…well, he has trouble walking, picking up things…remembering,” she whispered the last part in his ear and Neville felt a wave of nausea overcome him.

 

“Course not, course not. That sounds lovely. Lead the way then…your ears look lovely?” Ron had said to compliment her. He didn’t say _how_ to compliment her. Her small ears did look rather lovely, clean, he always appreciated a clean lovely ear.

 

Hannah blushed. “I’ll have to thank my parents for that one, you know, genetics.”

 

“Of course.” He felt stupid and cursed himself mentally. Why was this so hard? Where did all his confidence go? He was _so_ close to getting the girl. So close!

 

“Pray, you saucy ho,” Neville turned a deep shade of red as the words stumbled out of his mouth. _Pray_ , you saucy ho? He quickly pulled out the parchment he had written down of some of the words in the book to see if he was making any sense. According to his handwriting, pray was a way to ask something, ho meant ‘hey’ and saucy meant ‘sassy’.

 

Of course to the outside word he had just called Hannah a ‘saucy ho.’ He thanked Merlin that every other person in there wasn’t paying attention. Neither was Hannah who was removing her apron and rushing back behind the bar.

 

“We have a bit of a theme going on tonight,” she said quickly. “It was all my idea. We’re trying to integrate some Muggle themes into here since we’re sort of struggling to stay out of the red zone. Apparently in Muggle bars…”

 

Neville wasn’t sure where the red zone was but he also wasn’t comfortable wearing a coconut bra. Hannah kept jabbering on and handed him one from behind the counter and Neville idiotically put it on over his shirt. She also handed him a grass skirt and a red lei while pointing out her festive decorations that consisted of a bobbly headed swaying girl with a coconut bra, grass skirt and a ukulele or some sort of instrument in her arms. Also, she pointed to the small sign that said, ‘Welcome to the Leaky’s Hawaiian Luau.’ Neville wasn’t sure what that was but he nodded his head as if he did while really, he was eyeing Hannah’s chest in her tight black top.

 

“It’s nice. Err…really nice. The decorations.”

 

She smiled at him and reached for a glass and started pouring a pink colored drink inside of it. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke to him, “Want a drink then? It’s Sangria Saturday. I’m pretty sure it’s a Hawaiian drink.”

 

“Sangria Saturday?” he questioned to himself. He eyed the hula girl with the bobble head, the coconut bra wearing Tom and the other patrons that were eating and fingering their grass skirts. Hannah was leaning over him and he arched his brow to get a good look at her chest and the strap of her blood red bra.

 

“It’s a Muggle drink. Don’t be shy Neville,” she added a small blue umbrella to the drink and pushed it towards him. “One drink won’t hurt you. I’ll pour you a glass of water as well.”

 

Neville wasn’t sure if drinking would be the best thing for their date but he nodded his head. He didn’t want to offend her. So he took a daring sip of the delicious fruity drink and after another sip, gulped the entire thing down.

 

Hannah idly poured some more into his cup and grinned. Her smile made Neville’s head feel woozy. The drink was quickly clouding his vision as she kept pouring and talking while he drank and let his ears listen to her stories while his eyes stared at her chest. He was really thinking about Othello and Igor, battling it out over a woman or whatever it was that they were fighting about in the play. Maybe it was figs, he really couldn’t remember.

 

“The best drink I’ve ever had,” he said to Hannah’s chest. She didn’t notice, if she did, she didn’t care that he wasn’t speaking to her directly.

 

Behind Neville, Tom shook his head as Neville turned a rosy red color.

 

Neville knew before he brought the fourth glass to his lips that he shouldn’t have been drinking. How could he channel his inner Ron/Igor if he was under the influence of alcohol? He was certain that the fruity drunk with an umbrella would do no harm to him.

 

After his fourth drink Neville found out he was wrong. Well, he didn’t notice he was wrong but he would the next day after he battled his Gran for a hangover potion and grudgingly agreed to not drink again (of course Neville and his grandmother both knew it wouldn’t last long).

 

Neville wasn’t an alcoholic. On the contrary, save for boys’ night out he never drank. This was a special occasion and his nerves had gotten the better of him.

 

With Shakey language forgotten, a green umbrella tucked behind his ear and a coconut bra on his chest, Neville boldly asked Hannah to dance in the middle of the empty Leaky Cauldron.

 

She giggled and swayed under his grip as Neville grinned at her and stumbled on his feet, lost in her eyes for once.

 

“Neville, I think you’re a bit drunk,” she whispered with a giggle.

 

“Fie you wench! For I am not drunk but devouring you—“

 

Hannah laughed. Neville always said the oddest things to her. She brushed off the ‘wench’ part of his sentence and swatted his hand from the glass he was reaching for.

 

“You’re devouring that drink. Honestly, I was a bit surprised you wanted to have dinner. It always seems you have a problem with me Neville,” she whispered. Her eyes stared at the hula girl, the head bobbing as she thought back to the odd conversations that they usually had. “Never talk that much but the letter, it was such odd language. What does anon mean anyway?”

 

Neville wasn’t listening to her. The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was closed by now. The others had left for their beds and even Tom had left for his room (after suggesting to Hannah that she leave Neville outside to sober up and find his own way home). The bar was dimly lit, he could barely make her out in the shadows, especially with the black attire she was wearing. Her hair though, seemed to glow and he felt like patting it.

 

“Your lips are like cherries and your hair is like bread,” he whispered.

 

Hannah grinned. “Thanks for that Neville. I suppose you don’t understand what I’m saying to you.”

 

“I understand plenty,” he said, poking her nose.

 

“Perhaps I should get you some bread to soak up all that alcohol in your stomach. Oh Neville, I’m glad you came out tonight and that we really are such good friends. It’s nice to have dinner and drinks…or well, to not have dinner and to look after your friend who gets drunk. Your Gran is going to kill me.”

 

Neville didn’t say anything but he was reeling inside. He couldn’t get over the word she had used, friend. No, he wanted to be more than friends. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and stumble off into the sunset with her draped over his body while he wore a toga or something spectacular that signaled to everyone that they were in love and meant to be together.

 

He wanted to buy a ring and get down on one knee and propose to her. No, he didn’t even need a ring. A piece of string, a lock of hair, whatever, he would use to show just how much he was serious about her because Neville was pretty sure he ‘anoned’ her and anoning someone was the highest level of affection in his books at the moment.

 

“I’m going to dazzle you with my dancing skills,” he said. He then proceeded to growl and flap his arms in the air then he clucked like a chicken.

 

“Oh dear,” said Hannah, giggling nervously, “watch out for that window… _Neville_!”

Neville was lucky that he was so drunk. He would feel the pain tomorrow morning and Tom would grumpily tell Hannah, “Very unfortunate, very unfortunate indeed. An odd boy that Longbottom is but being raised by a vulture hat wearing woman…he was bound to be an awkward person. I’m getting too old for this. Much too old for this.”

 

Hannah grumbled as she went to go fish out Neville from the broken glass and she would grumble again at Tom’s remark.

 

-x-

 

It was a struggle to get Neville free from the rubbish outside. Thankfully, he had fallen right into their trash bins and now smelled like raw meat. It took Hannah awhile to help steady him on his feet and walk him towards the direction of his house (which was a long walk for a girl that had been on her feet all day). The Knight Bus was a fleeting decision because she was sure that the driver would not appreciate the vomit of Neville Longbottom (her shoes didn’t). She was also positive that she would splinch the two because he wouldn’t stop fidgeting under her grip, twirling locks of her hair, smelling her hair and telling her that she smelled like grilled cheese and figs while calling her a fiery wench, which Hannah was sure was a bad thing.

 

“I’m sorry Augusta,” Hannah said as the door to the Longbottom house opened. “I didn’t know he would get this bad. I offered him one drink and that one drink turned into…well, I want to say eight but I’d be lying. I myself don’t drink so I don’t know the effects on each person that well.”

 

Augusta Longbottom, in a periwinkle blue nightdress with a matching nightcap at first eyed Neville with distaste and then Hannah. Then she smiled brightly at Hannah’s words of ‘I don’t drink myself,’ because that’s exactly the type of person Neville needed.

 

Even if she did work in a filthy bar.

 

“I have an umbrella behind my ear Gran,” said Neville. He pointed to his ear and the tiny umbrella that kept threatening to fall off. Augusta rolled her eyes and sighed.

 

“Wonderful. Another party filled night for Neville. Do you think if I turn him into a tree for a few years, until he matures a bit more, anyone would realize his absence?”

 

Hannah pondered the question and could really only come up with the response of, ‘What a strange family the Longbottom’s are,’ so she said nothing and instead ‘hmmmed,’ as Neville went to trace her lips with his sticky fingers.

 

“I’m sorry he was trouble. I wouldn’t expect you to go on another date with him again. What a terrible first date. I was sure I taught him better.”

 

At the word ‘date,’ Hannah’s eyes popped open and she nervously fidgeted with her black shirt. “It…we weren’t on a date,” she mumbled. “We’re just friends.”

 

Gran rolled her eyes. “Of course, how silly of me.”

 

Neville shook his head and then shook a finger at Hannah. “We’re on a date. We are on a date. You and I are on a date,” he said, pointing to Augusta and then shook his head, pointing his finger at Hannah. “You and I are on a date. I’m _Ron_.”

 

“Is that some sort of nickname?” Hannah asked Augusta with confusion.

 

“No, Igor and Shakey. They were…help me…stupid Ron…you’re pretty.” His sticky fingers found her blonde disheveled hair and Hannah grumbled.

 

“Thank you Neville,” her voice was no longer light or happy. She was terribly tired and wanted to be off already. If this was a first date she wouldn’t want to know what a second one was with Neville Longbottom.

 

“I like organs, sticks…leaves and you.”

 

Augusta coughed to stop herself from laughing.

 

“I didn’t quite get the last part,” Hannah said tiredly.

 

“He said _you_. He likes you Hannah. Let’s not beat around the bush. I want grandchildren before I die. This was a date,” Augusta said loudly.

 

Hannah groaned and wanted to desperately curl up into a ball due to embarrassment. Having Neville propose to her in his drunken state as she struggled to bring him home was one thing. Having Augusta Longbottom mention grandchildren was an entirely different thing.

 

“’Tis true,” said Neville with a grin. He burped as an added confirmation.

 

His foggy mind was telling him to explain his letter and the fact that they were supposed to be on a date. That he was madly in…well, was it love? Was it lust? Or was it the fact that he spent minutes out of the day thinking about her, the way she scrunched up her nose when she laughed or the way her hair shined in the light but was really dull without lighting.

 

“Your hair…needs…conditioner,” he said, fingering a lock of her hair.

 

She blushed and smacked his hand away. Hannah and Augusta both stared at each other and then at Neville, wondering where the conversation was going.

 

Perhaps it was the way that she stared at him oddly but listened as if captivated by his talk about flobberworms and the fact that he fed a whole crate of them lettuce and he had asked his Gran to knit him a pair of flobberworm slippers for Christmas. Maybe it was all those things, maybe it was none of those things. Neville didn’t know _why_ he liked Hannah so much but he _knew_ he was on a date. He _anoned_ her. He anoned her as much as Harry did Ginny.

 

“I…well…that’s interesting. Definitely interesting. I think…I should be off before any more confessions are made. Goodnight Augusta, goodbye Neville.”

 

Hannah rushed from the doorstep and had to stop herself from jogging down the street.

 

“Wait!” shouted Neville at a distance behind her. She wasn’t going to stop for him as much as she wanted to, only to make sure that he was alright.

 

“Neville!” She could hear Augusta shout as the wind whipped her face. “Leave the poor girl alone! I think you scared her enough!” Hannah pumped her arms and quickened her pace. She only needed to turn the corner and hide behind a tree. Then she would apparate and the whole ordeal would be over.

 

But Neville wasn’t done. He stumbled after Hannah and threw his arms around her once he was close enough and then sloppily kissed her on the forehead. In response Hannah smiled. It was the only thing she could think of and lightly kissed him on the cheek. She squeezed his arm and told him to get back to his Gran.

 

Neville obliged and as she disappeared he walked back to Augusta with a silly grin on his face and laced his fingers with hers.

 

“I kissed her Gran,” he squeaked.

 

“Don’t get so excited Neville. I’m sure you scared her off. Come inside. I’ll get you some water and then it’ll be off to bed. Never drink again Neville.”

 

He wasn’t listening as Augusta led him into the kitchen and forced him to sit on a chair.

 

“Ah, you silly monkey, she tastes like burnt toast…”

 

His head dropped to the kitchen table and his snores filled the kitchen. Augusta shook her head and sighed.

 

It would take Neville a total of twenty minutes after he got up to recall the events of last night. After fighting with Gran for ten and then rushing for the shower because he reeked, he would remember everything as the water beat on his sore body.

 

Ron Weasley was _so_ dead.

 

Of course, by the end of the next day all the blame would be on Harry Potter.


	3. Sloppy Sundays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville watched her with confusion as she lazily swished her wand around, eggs floating to her. “I am not an alcoholic,” he growled, “and what do you mean ‘that poor girl,’ what poor girl?”

** Chapter 3: ** **Sloppy Sundays**

Augusta Longbottom wasn’t feeling very forgiving as she entered her kitchen the next morning. Her snoring grandson was drooling on her table _again_. He reeked of garbage and a men’s dirty loo. She had half a mind to fill a bucket with water and find a bar of vanilla scented soap and give him a good scrub.

 

Instead, Augusta did the next best thing. She accio’d two large frying pans and whacked them together with a big grin, right next to Neville’s head.

 

Neville jumped in his seat, covering his ringing ears and glared at his Gran, wondering if he should take out his wand and teach her a lesson. He didn’t actually know _if_ he had his wand and he didn’t actually remember _why_ he was sleeping in the kitchen for the second day in a row.

 

The rancid smell of expired meat was making him nauseous and he swallowed down the bile that was rising in his otherwise dry mouth.

 

“Urgh…” he groaned painfully. His eyes were red, his head throbbed and he looked like he had tumbled around in garbage all night.

 

“Enough,” Augusta demanded. She shuffled over to the sink and filled a glass with water and then shuffled back to Neville in her orange nightdress that was making him think of food making him feel worse. “You’d think you’d be used to a hangover by now. All well Neville, you’ll have to make do. We’re all out of hangover potion. Maybe it’ll teach you a lesson,” she chirped, handing him the water.

 

Neville didn’t say anything. He drank the water greedily and then rubbed his temples, shutting his eyes tightly, cursing whoever thought creating the sun was a good idea. He wanted to hole up in a dark corner of a room and sleep for the next century or so and not be woken up by his loud Gran who kept scolding him.

 

“W-what happened?” he croaked. His voice was dry, his lips were cracked and after several pokes from Augusta, he opened his eyes and glared at her as menacingly as he could.

 

“You got drunk Neville. _Again_. After you promised me you would stop drinking. You’re an alcoholic Neville!” she shouted. He cringed and sullenly stared at her. Had he really promised that? “To think,” she cried dramatically, throwing her arms in the air, “I raised an alcoholic. After that disastrous scene last night, that poor girl will never want to see you again. I suppose I’ll just have to live with the fact that I’ll never have any great-grandchildren to dote on. I suppose it’s for the best. You’d probably give them your alcoholism…” She trailed off and walked over to the cabinets on the other side of the room, opening them and removing silver bowls loudly.

 

Neville watched her with confusion as she lazily swished her wand around, eggs floating to her. “I am _not_ an alcoholic,” he growled, “and what do you mean ‘that poor girl,’ what poor girl?”

 

Augusta hummed to herself as she cracked four eggs and started to whisk them in the silver bowl quickly. “You know that girl, the one that you’re always pining over. Should have seen the horrified look on her face. Should have seen the horrified look on my face!” she chuckled at the memory. Neville groaned, his Gran chuckling was not a good sign. “Having to open the door to your drunk grandson and his barmaid, poor girl works in that awful place. It isn’t a place for a young woman, that’s for sure. In my day, r _espectable_ young women didn’t willingly work around drunken men. Tom aught to be ashamed of himself.”

 

Neville groaned. She was talking too fast for him to completely comprehend what she was saying. “Merlin, tell me I didn’t go to a muggle strip…,” he blushed as Augusta’s eyes popped open from shock at the word strip. “I mean…I….” Neville laughed nervously and didn’t say anything.

 

“What are you saying Neville? Have you been meeting _ladies of the night_?”

 

Neville scoffed. The less she knew the better. “I mean—“

 

Augusta glared at him but took her anger out on the bowl of eggs she was whisking feverishly. “What would your parents say? I know what they would say, Augusta, Augusta,” she tutted, “what went wrong? You were supposed to take care of our son,” she shook her head and tiredly placed the bowl down. “I should have shipped you off long ago Neville…you can’t get into trouble as a seaman…”

 

Neville ignored her comment. “Gran, what girl…Tom,” he tried to place the name but couldn’t remember talking to anyone named Tom last night. “Tom who?”

 

“You know,” she said, waving her hand at him, trying to dismiss the conversation, “ _Tom_.”

 

It didn’t explain anything to Neville who kept trying to connect the blurry dots in his head. “No, I don’t know…” he grumbled.

 

Augusta turned on the stove while muttering under her breath. Neville ignored her and told himself he had better take a shower. He smelled awful as if he had been rolling around in dragon dung _again_. He lazily got out of his chair, his insides shaking as eggs started to sizzle on the frying pan and the smell of them cooking wafted to his nose.

 

Food was not his friend at the moment. His body ached as he stood up and then slowly walked to the loo. He opened the door and then shut it behind him, wincing at the loud sound. The loo was thankfully much darker than the kitchen with just a small little window that barely let any rays of sun into the light blue room.

 

Neville quickly turned the water on, waiting for the steam to build as he peeled off yesterdays clothing. The smell of his shirt made him wince and as his trousers fell to the floor the hot water called out for him. His body shuddered as he stepped into the tub and the hot water soaked him.

 

He rubbed his face and sighed in content and then jumped.

 

_Tom. Barmaid. Alcohol._

 

He quickly started to connect the dots. “Gran!” he shouted from the shower.

 

_Oh no, oh no, oh no…_

 

Augusta chuckled from the kitchen and shouted back at him. “Yes Neville, that _Tom_! Make sure you scrub behind your ears!”

 

Neville obliged and quickly scrubbed behind his ears as he shakily started to piece together what had happened last night. He reached for a bar of vanilla soap and quickly cleaned his body. He couldn’t believe what he was remembering and hurriedly washed the soap off of him and then turned the water off, grabbing a fluffy pink towel and running down to the kitchen with it wrapped around his waist.

 

“No Gran, _no_ …what…how the…what did she…”

 

Augusta chuckled as she scooped some fluffy scrambled eggs onto a plate and walked over to the rickety wooden table and placed the plate down for her grandson to eat.

 

“Oh well, let’s see if my memory is any good today. I think my favorite part was when you sloppily kissed her,” Neville gaped at Augusta with his mouth wide open and a hand to his head, “or when you admitted you liked her and…”

 

“Just stop it,” he commanded, shakily taking a seat. “Don’t go on. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

 

“Serves you right,” she said. “Will you please get dressed? You go around gallivanting like some sort of _stud_ , that’s right Neville I said _stud_. I read those articles in the _Prophet_ about those men out there. You _all_ should be ashamed of yourself.”

 

He didn’t know what she was talking about but the smell of the cooked eggs was making him sick and he really didn’t want her to lecture him on what was wrong with his life. Augusta poked her grandson towards his room and waited outside the door as Neville tried to get dressed.

 

“Why don’t we have a hangover potion?” he moaned from the other side of the door. Inside his room (which was thankfully very dark because Neville would not have been able to handle any light whatsoever at this moment) he stumbled about and stubbed his toe, trying to search for some clean clothing.

 

“Because you are an _alcoholic_ and I have half a mind to contact someone to help you. If only Gildeory Lockhart hadn’t lost _his_ mind. He was always a smart and good looking man…someone to look up to…his teeth were very…”

 

Neville stopped listening to the old woman outside his door and struggled to put on a pair of black trousers and a green t-shirt. He quickly shoved a pair of old socks on his feet and then hopped about as he put on his trainers. Thankfully, he found his wand on his bedside table and pocketed it.

 

“Gran,” he shouted. “I’m off.”

 

The door swung open and Augusta stared at him with displeasure.

 

“Where do you think you’re going off to with bloodshot eyes and without a proper breakfast? Don’t you work Neville? Yes, the last time I checked you _do_. Aurors…in my day,” she rambled on as Neville searched for his cloak. “Augusta Longbottom raised a _proper_ grandson. Not someone who looks like they’re on some _stuff_ …are you on _stuff_ , Neville?” she asked, eyeing him. “I read all about that _stuff_. I bet it’s the Weasley boy. Always had a bad feeling about him.”

 

Neville rolled his eyes as he found his cloak and started to put one arm through it. “I need to apologize to Hannah,” he explained, “and I need to murder Ron.”

 

“I knew it was the Weasley boy!” she shouted triumphantly. “Molly will hear words from me. She thinks because she has a _tribe_ of children she’s mother of the year…well, I’ll show her—“

 

“Gran, I need a plan,” he said exasperatedly. Augusta followed him as he quickly rushed out of his bedroom and walked down the corridor towards the bathroom. She watched as he picked up his toothbrush and started to vigorously brush his teeth.

 

“We’ll write her an angry letter. Don’t forget to brush those gums and that tongue! Merlin only knows where it’s been.”

 

Neville spit into the sink. “A letter is what got me into this mess in the first place!” he shouted. He threw the toothbrush down and then hugged his grandmother.

 

“Neville, where are you going? At least bring them a pie or some cookies and feed Trevor!” Neville ignored her cries and vanished with a loud crack in front of her eyes. “Neville! I have to do everything around here,” she grumbled to herself. “Expects me to write a letter, cook and clean, take care of the toad. Disrespectful…never would have passed in my day…too soft on them at Hogwarts…”

 

-x-

 

Seconds later, Neville found himself in the woods behind Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley’s house. He knew since it was Sunday that Ron would be lounging around and pestering his poor sister.

 

“Where is he!” Neville yelled, opening the gate to the backyard and running towards the table that Harry was currently sitting near. Harry smiled brightly at Neville and waved.

 

“Neville?” Ginny questioned across from him. She had her legs resting on Harry’s lap as he rubbed her feet. “What are you doing here so early? Harry didn’t tell me you were coming to help set up.”

 

Neville awkwardly glanced at Ginny. Hermione wasn’t much of a problem. He didn’t care about yelling in front of her or losing his cool. Ginny was different. Ginny was the only girl that would go with Neville to the Yule Ball. Ginny was the girl he had a crush on even though he knew she had liked Harry all those years. She had a special place in his heart so he averted his eyes from hers and stared at the dirt underneath him.

 

“Err…”

 

Ginny pouted and dropped her legs from Harry. They planted firmly on the ground and she got up, hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me you forgot what today is? Of course you did because why would anyone care—“

 

Neville sighed and cut her off, “Where’s Ron?”

 

Ginny groaned. “Where isn’t Ron? He practically lives here half the time,” she grumbled. “Always coming round. Makes me feel like a third wheel in my own home.”

 

Neville didn’t say anything. What was this? Vent to Neville day? All he wanted to do was kill her brother.

 

“I suppose he tried to sell you that hair growth potion—“

 

He shook his head and eyed Harry for help but Harry just sat back in his chair with an amused expression on his face, sipping from his cup as a breeze rolled by.

 

“No, what’s wrong with my hair?”

 

Harry snorted and Ginny blushed nervously. “Err…well, Neville to be honest—why are your eyes so red?”

 

Before he could say anything a loud crash could be heard from the house and a shrill yell of ‘ _Arthur!’_ The three jumped and Ginny turned to smile weakly at Harry who looked less than amused.

 

“As much as I love your father, please tell him to stop trying to make all my muggle things magical. I really don’t want my coasters biting me again.”

 

Ginny groaned and rushed off towards the house, screaming for her father, leaving Harry and Neville alone.

 

“What’s going on?” Neville asked, taking the seat that Ginny had occupied moments ago.

 

Harry whistled and took a sip from his cup. “Don’t let Ginny hear you ask that. I don’t know myself,” he admitted quietly. His eyes were looking past Neville’s head and instead at the trees and the grass behind him. “All I know is we’re having a party and I have gifts stashed under the floorboards incase it’s her birthday or someone’s birthday or an anniversary of something. She really expects me to keep up with all these dates. Got sour with me when I didn’t remember it was the anniversary of our first fight as an official couple the other day which lead to another fight and tears because she’s so sentimental,” he grumbled to himself which caused Neville to raise his eyebrow.

 

He really didn’t know what to say. “As much as I’d love to discuss your love life, where the hell is Ron?”

 

Harry raised his eyebrow and grinned. His green eyes fell on Neville’s shoulder and he pursed his lips, not answering him. Instead, Neville felt a tap on his shoulder and jumped when he didn’t see anyone. A second later Ron’s head appeared but not his body.

 

He was hiding under an invisibility cloak.

 

Neville growled and grabbed him, making Ron fall to the ground with a yelp.

 

“What happened?” he howled as Neville shoved his face in the dirt. “What’s this about!”

 

Harry twitched in his chair from laughter, moving not to help Ron but to take another sip from his orange colored cup.

 

“You ruined my life. Hannah thinks I’m… _odd_.”

 

Harry snorted as Ron groaned on the floor. “Aren’t you?”

 

“Shut-up.”

 

“What happened?” he asked again. Neville let go of Ron who was now covered in dirt and groaned.

 

“What didn’t happen? Should I begin with _I was so drunk_ …”

 

Harry grinned and nodded his head vigorously. The pumpkin juice, or what Neville assumed was pumpkin juice, sloshed around in his cup and onto his trousers but he didn’t even flinch. “The best stories always start out that way, don’t they? Remember that time we woke up in the States? Ginny doesn’t celebrate that day, that’s for sure,” he said with a wry grin.

 

Ron scoffed, getting up and dusting himself off and glaring at Neville. “We ended up in _jail_. I don’t blame her. Hermione still doesn’t know to this day, thank Merlin.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and stretched sloppily in his chair. “Come on then, you were drunk.”

 

Neville nodded and sighed tiredly. “And I _might_ have called her a saucy ho,” at this, Ron whistled innocently and said something about the ‘nice’ weather, “and kissed her cheek like some kind of dog. It’s all Ron’s fault really. The _ho_ part anyway.”

 

Ron whistled again and asked Neville if he had started working out. He even squeezed his arm and pretended to be surprised by the muscle that was there.

 

“Does Ginny know you’re here?” Neville asked, eyeing Ron. He swatted his hand away from his arm and grumbled as Harry took another sip of his pumpkin juice.

 

“No and neither does Hermione. Don’t blow my cover.”

 

Neville groaned and cursed himself. He stretched his legs towards Harry who was softly singing to himself and bobbing his head to music that wasn’t there.

 

“I’m taking relationship advice from you?” Neville questioned himself. “Of course this would happen to me.”

 

“You’re going to be single for the rest of your life,” Harry said with a chuckle.

 

Neville glared at him in return and Ron joined in on the laughter. “Here, here!” he shouted, pumping his fist in the air. “Oh, so that’s a bad thing?” he asked, seeing the crestfallen face of Neville. “Let me tell you something Neville, they’re all nice and pretty when you date them but once you get down on that knee, all bets are off. I don’t even want to know how Hermione is going to act when we’re actually married.”

 

Harry chuckled and leaned forward in his chair, nearly falling out of it. He blinked and grinned. “You? My fiancé is mental.”

 

“That’s my sister you’re talking about,” Ron said gruffly.

 

“Fine. Your _sister_ is mental.”

 

“Harry—“

 

Neville clapped his hands to bring the attention back to himself and glared at the two. “Enough about you two, what do I do?”

 

Ron shrugged. He really didn’t want to give him anymore advice. It would probably lead to him getting thrown in some bushes or on the dirt again. Harry paused and scratched his chin in thought, well, what he thought was his chin. He was really holding his hand in the air and making some random rubbing motions with his fingers.

 

“Well,” said Ron, taking a few steps away from Neville. “You’re going to have to think of something because she’s going to be here today.”

 

“I’d suggest apologizing,” advised Harry.

 

Neville rolled his eyes but thought about his suggestion. Apologize? Well, that was one way to go. He could apologize. He could grovel at her feet. He _would_ if he had to. He really had no problem with begging for forgiveness from Hannah. She was worth it.

 

His thoughts traveled to Hannah. Hannah with her blonde hair that was long and shiny. Neville wanted to run his fingers through it. Neville wanted to run his fingers all over her body.

 

He blushed as if the others could read his thoughts and averted his eyes to the rich blue sky. He blinked, noticing the clouds even reminded him of Hannah. One was shaped like her left ear, mole and all.

 

“ _RON!_ ”

 

Neville snapped back to attention as Hermione yelled shrilly, rushing towards Ron with Ginny at her heels.

 

“Crap!” Ron yelled, hiding behind Neville’s chair, eyeing his fiancé with a weak smile.

 

Hermione glared at him while Ginny rolled her eyes at Ron’s weak apologies. “What’s going on with the three of you? You’re always up to something.”

 

Neville didn’t say anything. He was too interested in the fight that was going on behind him. Hermione was whispering something about Ron always running off when she needed him and Ron was saying something about Nargles messing with his brain.

 

“Neville wants some relationship advice and I was just trying to give it to him,” said Harry with a loud burp. He grinned at Ginny or ‘Ginger’ as he had just called her and kept trying to push her down on his lap.

 

“Don’t listen to Ron,” Hermione advised with a scowl. Ron huffed. “I feel like I’m experiencing déjà vu.”

 

“And don’t listen to Harry,” muttered Ginny, trying to take Harry’s pumpkin juice away from him and sniff it to see if what was inside of the cup was one hundred percent pumpkin juice. Harry kept swatting her hand away with one hand while the other tangled her red hair.

 

“All I was saying is that _Nev_ ,” Neville raised his eyebrow at the nickname, Harry had never called him that before, “should apologize to Hannah for being an idiot.”

 

“That’s solid advice.” Ginny said brightly. Her focus was really on Harry. She was putting her nose near his mouth and trying to smell his breath. In retaliation he kept licking her nose and chuckling.

 

Neville blushed at their display of affection and stretched in his chair, putting his head back and focusing on the sky. “You think so?”

 

Harry nodded. “Just make sure you’re sincere about it. Right, Ginger?”

 

Ginny gave him an odd look and pursed her lips together. “If you’re trying to impress her…just be yourself. That’s what we want. Be yourself and be truthful. She’d be lucky to have you in her life.”

 

He grinned and arched his eyebrow at Harry who was trying to mouth something to him but Neville couldn’t read lips so he ignored him.

 

“Thanks Ginny.”

 

“No problem. I’ll get some water for all of you. This sun is unbearable. We can talk some more after.”

 

Ginny peeled herself off of Harry’s lap and walked over to Hermione, signaling for her to stop fighting with Ron and join her back in the house. Once the two were out of earshot, Harry leaned forward and smacked Neville’s leg.

 

“Don’t listen to her.”

 

Neville furrowed his brow with confusion. “Don’t? But—“

 

“No. See if I apologized to Ginger for everything I did wrong she would have the upper hand in the relationship,” Harry explained calmly. Ron nodded next to Neville and advised him to ‘listen to the man.’

 

“But I’m not in—“

 

Harry raised his hand to silence Neville. “Exactly. Why give her the upper hand before you’re even in the relationship?” He paused to take a sip of his juice. His words were slightly slurred but Neville figured it was just the heat. “Apologize to her, yes, don’t get drunk around her, yes, but you need to do something big. Apologizing isn’t going to cut it.”

 

“Like what—“

 

Harry went to smack Neville’s leg again but instead hit his own and blinked with confusion. “Women like big things Neville. They like to be awed. When I proposed to Ginny did I just drop down on one knee and show her a ring?”

 

He wasn’t sure. He hadn’t really paid any attention to the retelling of their engagement story. He had been too focused on the celebrating part and had woken up the next day on a canoe.

 

“Err—“

 

“I took her to dinner. I took her to a Quidditch match. I did all these things for her to make the day special. Do you really think she would have said no after that?”

 

“Well, I don’t think she would have said no in the first place—“

 

Ron gently smacked the back of Neville’s head and scowled. “You’re missing the point.”

 

“I am?” he asked weakly.

 

Harry blinked and pointed to Ron, thinking he was Neville. “Apologize and no drinking. Two simple tasks. And give her a bit of a show. Women like that.”

 

“And wear something fancy,” suggested Ron, mumbling something about pink dress robes.

 

“And—“

 

The two continued to rattle things off and Neville weakly placed one hand on his head and groaned. He was going to need a quill to write everything down.

 

Of course Neville should have sniffed Harry’s ‘pumpkin juice’ to check if it really was _one hundred percent_ pumpkin juice with the way he kept referring to Ginny as ‘Ginger.’ Maybe if he would have he would have thought twice about taking advice on women from Harry Potter.

 

-x-

 

Neville still wasn’t sure what they were supposed to be celebrating. The dining room of the Potter household was decorated with blown up pictures of Harry and Ginny and flowers that almost made the place feel like a garden.

 

He didn’t know if they were celebrating a date, their first picture together or the fact that Harry had once given Ginny flowers. It really didn’t seem to matter to the Weasley family. Dinner in the house was as lively as ever. Someone always got drunk at one of Ginny’s shindigs. The Weasley family was filled with party animals now that they were all of age.

 

“…And then I said to her, _how did a pig get in my bathtub!_ ”

 

The table broke out with laughter and Neville watched as Dean Thomas smacked George Weasley on the back. Neville had missed the punch line. He had been on edge the entire night. When he was eating he had cracked his plate from cutting his chicken so hard, which got Arthur to call him ‘tough man’ the entire night.

 

Seeing Ron’s father drunk tended to make Neville feel better about himself. The rest of the family wasn’t embarrassed by the father’s fun, except for Molly, who had to constantly remind her husband that they were in front of company and it was not acceptable to stumble about their future son-in-law’s house and tinker with his muggle things.

 

Neville’s favorite part of the night was when Arthur accidentally lit Harry’s television set on fire. Harry didn’t even blink an eye. He had spent most of the night trying to get Ginny tipsy but ended up matching her and Seamus drink for drink. He was going through one of his identity crisis stages again and kept asking everyone what was a muggle.

 

He had also started singing naughty songs about peas, making Neville come to the conclusion that Harry Potter had quite the dirty mouth and imagination.

 

During the entire dinner he tried to talk to Hannah who was sitting next to Ernie Macmillan and eagerly talking to him. Jealousy filled every part of Neville’s body. His eyes barely shifted off of her during the entire night.

 

“Tough guy!” Arthur shouted next to him, poking his nose with a grin.

 

Neville groaned and rubbed his red nose, eyeing the red jolly man next to him. “Yes, Mr. Weasley?” he asked, waiting for him to say something else.

 

The lack of any real conversation was starting to get on Neville’s nerves.

 

“No!” he shouted, grabbing his glass of water and pouring it over the small fire Arthur had created with his wand. The rest of the table didn’t even blink an eye as Arthur clapped his hands gleefully at the mess. “We don’t light our napkins on fire,” Neville chastised.

 

Arthur blinked and then opened his blue eyes wide and peered at Neville. “What’s going on tough guy!”

 

“Nothing,” he grumbled. He tried to awkwardly scoot away from the man next to him. His breath reeked of alcohol and Neville was afraid at any moment he would either vomit all over him or mistake him for his wife who was currently preoccupied with trying to stop Lee Jordan from swinging from a chandelier.

 

“Why so sullen tough guy?”

 

Neville paused and then scooted closer to Arthur. He supposed the smell of alcohol wasn’t _too_ bad. If he was going to be able to pour his heart out to the grey haired man then he wouldn’t grumble about his smell or the fact that he was poking Neville’s gut with his wand and trying to light him on fire.

 

“I just…I have no clue what to do. I want to talk to her,” his eyes flitted towards Hannah who was listening intently to what Ernie was telling her. “I want to apologize but I don’t know _how_ and I don’t want to mess it up.”

 

Arthur poked Neville rather forcefully and then burped in his face (earning a look of disgust from the boy). “Go on there tough guy,” he commanded, “you’re a tough guy, you know what I like about you?” he asked.

 

Neville shrugged weakly, trying not to breathe through his nose. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say not my smile,” he mumbled.

 

“That you’re a tough guy. Buck up.”

 

Arthur prodded his stomach again, this time with as much force as the drunk man could muster. Neville jumped out of his seat, almost falling to the floor as he fumbled to remove himself from the table, his eyes set on Hannah.

 

He slowly walked towards her, Ernie still occupying Hannah’s poor ear. Neville told himself what he was about to do was alright. He was _just_ going to apologize to her. It really wasn’t a big deal.

 

He had to stop himself from smacking Ernie’s big head and throwing him out of his seat like some sort of rabid, territorial animal.

 

“Hannah,” he said, coughing slightly to break up their conversation.

 

Hannah looked up at Neville, a frown quickly appearing on her face, blue eyes filling with worry. Neville didn’t miss how her hand quickly found Ernie’s and squeezed his for comfort. Ernie said nothing and instead gave Neville an amused look.

 

Neville had to stop himself from baring his teeth like a hungry werewolf.

 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

 

Hannah shook her head and then groaned at the accidental jab in her ribs by Percy Weasley’s elbow. “Neville—“

 

Neville did not wait for her to continue. Instead, he pushed Ernie out of the way (not that he really needed to, there was enough room for the two of them) and then grabbed Hannah’s hand, pulling her straight out of her seat.

 

She silently followed him towards the kitchen where they were met with quiet and the smell of fresh air rolling in from the open window. Neville dropped Hannah’s hand quickly and secretly wished he had had at least _one_ drink to give him the confidence for what he was about to do.

 

Hannah shifted awkwardly from left foot to right foot, waiting for him to say something as she fidgeted with the hem of her lime green blouse.

 

“I want to apologize for everything,” the words rushed out of his mouth quickly. He found himself not staring into the eyes of Hannah but instead a small picture frame of a smiling and waving Harry and Ginny with a caption that read, ‘Home Sweet Home.’ “I apologize for what I said and what I did and more importantly what I said in front of my Gran and then for everything else I did…I’m not entirely sure of everything that I did,” a slight chuckle escaped from his mouth and he mentally cursed himself. Now was not the time to laugh about what had happened. “It’s all a bit of a blur and I have no idea why I had a coconut bra on either but I suppose I apologize for that too.”

 

His eyes finally fell on Hannah who was smiling sweetly at him.

 

She placed her hand on his arm gently and pursed her lips together. “Calm down. It’s fine. You were drunk. I’ve never seen you drunk before. It was just _shocking_ ,” she admitted quietly.

 

Neville sighed with relief and had to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her body and engulfing her in a bone crushing hug. “You forgive me? Seriously? I was ready to sing at the top of my lungs or do a dance or _something_ —“

 

“Please don’t. I accept your apology. I had fun…well, I had fun at first. It was nice to go…well…it was nice to see you.”

 

At this, Neville turned red but was more than happy to notice Hannah blushing herself. She was grinning at him and nervously tapping her foot on the floor.

 

“Can we…would you…want to do it again?” Neville took a deep breath to try and calm down the nervous beating of his heart. “This time with less alcohol and more conversation?”

 

He waited impatiently for Hannah to answer. It felt like ages as she pondered his suggestion, puckering her pink lips, unpuckering them and then fluttering her lashes, only to start the entire process again. It was utter torture to him.

 

She smiled and nodded her head, her blue eyes staring strongly into his. “Sure.” Her voice was a whisper.

 

Neville felt like his entire body had been lit on fire as her answer repeated itself in his head. _Sure. Sure. Sure._ She had agreed! She _wanted_ to see Neville again. She wanted to give him another try.

 

He smiled at her, a wide, sloppy grin and he was certain they were having a _moment_ so he leaned in without thinking.

 

Hannah felt like it was happening in slow motion. She could see his lips coming towards hers and wanted to cry out but was silenced as his dry, cracking lips found her own. She made no response to his lips on hers as he sloppily kissed her, his hand coming up to caress her neck.

 

Her eyes popped open in horror and her hands finally found the direction they needed. She pushed him off of her with all the force she had in her body and gaped at his red grinning face.

 

“What is wrong with you!” she shouted, shaking slightly.

 

At the reaction and loud decibel of her voice, Neville frowned and realized he had just done something terribly wrong. His brain started to function again and realization dawned on him. Slowly, he stumbled backwards and threw his back onto the pink flowered wall of Harry and Ginny’s kitchen.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled weakly, “I don’t know…you were giving me the look. You licked your lips.”

 

His argument sounded weak to his own ears as Hannah flared her nostrils and threw her arms up in the air. “They’re _dry_!” she shouted.

 

Neville gulped. “They were rather moist to me.”

 

She gaped angrily at him, her hands shoving through her blonde hair with exasperation. “I said I’d go out with you. I didn’t say you could attack me with your mouth!”

 

“Where’s a time turner when you need one?” he mumbled to himself.

 

He really wished he could have just gone back to a few seconds ago when Hannah was smiling at him and the prospects of them getting together, getting married and giving Augusta Longbottom the great-grandkids she so desperately wanted was looking good.

 

“Forget it Neville.” Her voice was tight with anger but it had a hint of sadness too.

 

He watched as Hannah rushed towards the kitchen door and swung it open, ready to stomp out of the house and shatter all of Neville’s dreams.

 

“Hannah, wait—“

 

“Goodbye,” she said, not bothering to turn around and look at him. Neville heard the loud crack and watched Hannah disappear right before his eyes.

 

He gloomily stared at the spot she had been standing on and slowly turned away with a sullen expression on his face, his heart feeling heavier than ever.

 

At that moment Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan stumbled into the room, the latter waving a bottle of firewhiskey in the air.

 

“Oi! I don’t have a pot of gold!” he shouted, kicking the imaginary person behind him.

 

Neville stared at the two and then his eyes targeted the bottle.

 

“Give me a drink,” he commanded.

 

The two cheered and watched as Neville lunged towards them and sipped greedily at the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and burping loudly.

 

Seamus grabbed the bottle back from him and shook it, guiding Neville towards the party that had moved to the backyard. Neville’s thoughts were on Harry Potter, on Hannah and the firewhiskey that burned his throat.

 

Before the night was over, Harry Potter’s bad advice wouldn’t be Neville’s problem anymore. Between Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigian it would be a mystery to many how Neville would survive the night and wake up in Hannah Abbot’s bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I kind of went overboard. This chapter was originally 27 pages long in a word document but I decided to cut some of it out. I’m excited to see what you all think about the ending! Don’t forget to review!


	4. Messed Up Mondays (A Midnight Serenade)

Neville stared at the motley crew that was dancing and singing in front of him. He lazily poured firewhiskey in his mouth, shaking at the burning sensation that filled his throat as he swallowed it. He had only been outside for ten minutes and his vision was already clouding, thanks to the quick consumption of alcohol.

 

The backyard glowed different colors, red, blues, greens thanks to tea lights that were floating in miniature lanterns in the air. There were two round tables, both for drinks, and seats that were mostly kicked to the floor.

 

Neville blinked, trying to focus his eyes but the lights were bothering him and he found it hard to concentrate as he sipped from the firewhiskey bottle that Seamus had so graciously given him.

 

“Tough guy,” a voice shouted loudly in his ear. He grimaced and stared at the blurry big image of what he figured was a man standing in front of him. “What happened?”

 

“R-r-rejected me,” he stuttered. He was stumbling over his words already, they were coming out slurred and incoherent. He wondered vaguely if he was speaking in his native tongue or some foreign language. “I did everything the man with the funny scar said. I a-polo-gi _zed_ and then asked her out. All whim like. All aloof,” Neville laughed loudly at ‘aloof’ and then started to say ‘poof, poof, poof,’ throwing his arms in the air as if something had exploded.

 

“No!” Another voice shouted. The person was on Neville’s right side and blocked some of the lights that were blinding him. He blinked three times and was able to focus on the face, Harry Potter was shaking his finger and pouting at him with displeasure. “You were supposed to do a big display—“

 

A big display of what, Neville didn’t really know. Maybe he was supposed to buy some tropical fish and a large tank to put them in, comparing his obsession to Hannah and his need to date her to that saying ‘there are plenty of fish in the sea’ but she was his fish and Neville would swim upstream, downstream, along any stream to swim, swim, swim with her.

 

“You,” another voice filled his ear and an arm snaked around his neck.

 

Neville stared into the red eyes of Dean Thomas and dropped his bottle to the grass, ready to hear advice from someone that would not steer him wrong. Dean was solid. He was a rock. He _had_ to know how to get girls if he had been able to date Ginny Weasley even when she held a torch for Harry.

 

“You need to go over to her house and _demand_ she take your apology back,” he commanded. He poked Neville’s chest roughly, making him wince but the words sounded _right_ to Neville.

 

He had to stop being such a pansy.

 

“Here, here!” Seamus shouted next to Dean. His eyes weren’t red, his speech wasn’t slurred but he was taking a swig from a bottle that was nearly empty and walking around like all he was drinking was water.

 

Neville eyed the Irishman whose face was redder than normal and grinned.

 

“Show her who wears the trousers in the relationship,” he advised, shoving his empty bottle in Neville’s hands.

 

The bottle was cool to Neville’s touch. It reminded him of the cool exterior of Hannah and the icy chill in her voice after he had stupidly kissed her. He squinted his eyes, trying to keep his eyes from filling with tears and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Come on Neville, what do you say?” He had been speaking, explaining something to Neville that he couldn’t quite understand.

 

Neville’s eyes were on Ron and Hermione. Ron was twirling Hermione around. They were dancing with no shoes, their toes pressing gently against the damp grass. That could’ve been him and Hannah.

 

Neville nodded in response unsure what Dean and Seamus were grinning about once he placed his attention on them again. Seamus hooked his arm into his while Dean grabbed the other and the three disappeared with a loud crack.

  

* * *

 

Neville growled.

 

It was an unnatural sound coming from the young man as he eyed Seamus and Dean who were standing in front of him. The former was staring at the obstacle that lay before them while the latter was drinking out of a near empty bottle and grinning broadly, pearly white teeth glowing in the dark.

 

Neville didn’t know what to call what he was participating in. Was it a break in? Did he really want to go to Azkaban after all these years?

 

He grabbed the bottle out of Dean’s hands and took a long swig. He was definitely going to need some liquid courage for this.

 

“Give him a boost!” shouted Dean, throwing his arms in the air trying unsuccessfully to grab Seamus. He instead ended up hugging himself and sighing in satisfaction as he squeezed himself tightly.

 

The warmth in Dean’s eyes made Neville realize why he agreed to the plan in the first place. He wanted to make Hannah that happy. He wanted to put his arms around her and get the same reaction from her because he was near. His crush on her wasn’t going away any time soon. By the end of the night she was going to be his, end of discussion.

 

He had slayed a snake during the Battle of Hogwarts! Surely she should have been throwing herself at his feet with vigor. Wasn’t she supposed to find that sexy? Maybe he needed the sword of Godric Gryffindor to remind her just how much of a stud he was. Or is! Neville is a stud! She should have been writing songs about him!

 

“Come on lads, give me a boost!” he shouted. He started to hitch up his trousers as if that would make the task easier and eyed the awning with wonder.

 

“We’re really doing this!” Seamus shouted excitedly.

 

“Yes! Come on, we’re supposed to be his back up! Let’s back him up.”

 

Neville swallowed nervously in agreement. He waved his two drunk friends over as he continued to eye the tattered red and white striped awning.

 

As if they were sharing the same brain Seamus and Dean simultaneously stumbled towards him and then promptly squatted down to the ground on their hands and knees.

 

Without further hesitation he shakily tried to climb on top of Dean’s back who cursed out in pain due to the weight. Neville stood on top of him for a few seconds trying to get his bearings and then stretched his hands out towards the awning, still a good three feet away from it. The cloth barely grazed his fingertips.

 

“Neville,” Dean wheezed out while Seamus laughed uncontrollably next to him. “We need to put you on a diet.”

 

Neville ignored him as he stared at the awning that was mocking him. He just wanted to get up there and knock on her windowpane to prove to Hannah that he was worthy of her.

 

“Hannah!” he shouted on top of Dean. “Hannah! Please! Come on Dean, lift me.”

 

“I can barely lift the hem of your trouser up let alone you, you cow.”

 

Dean made a weak attempt at arching his back to lift Neville but he winced and cried out in pain instead while Seamus continued to laugh next to him. Before they could start arguing someone coughed next to them, alerting the three inebriated men.

 

“Hello, Tom,” Neville said weakly. Seamus offered him a sip from his empty bottle.

 

Tom coughed and pointed a frail finger at Neville.

 

“In my day we used the front door or levitated rocks to hit their windows.”

 

Neville smiled nervously while Seamus jumped up from the floor.

 

“But of course!” he shouted. “Magic!”

 

Tom shook his head bemused by the three boys. They seemed harmless enough and he had watched Neville for the past few months drooling over Hannah. He figured he wouldn’t get involved. As long as they didn’t burn the place down they weren’t his problem.

 

“I _just_ want to know what your plan is,” Dean said to Seamus as he tried to catch his breath.

 

The man didn’t really have an eye for plans. If he was thinking clearly, and he wasn’t, Dean would not have listened to Seamus. He was creative but coming up with an idea and actually mapping it out were two entirely different things.

 

“He’s going to _woo_ her,” he responded with a loud whistle.

 

“Yeah!” Neville shouted excitedly. “Woo!” Though he wasn’t entirely sure what ‘woo’ meant and how he was going to do that.

 

It sounded all very knight in shining armor. Maybe he would need the sword of Gryffindor after all.

 

“With magic!”

 

There was that ‘M’ word again. Seamus whipped out his wand and started to do a little jig. Sparks were flying from his wand into the air as he swished it around haphazardly.

 

If Dean was feeling sober he would have muttered curses under his breath and wrinkled his nose as if he had just gotten a whiff of something rancid. He wasn’t so this happened instead:

 

“We’ll levitate you to her window and you’ll sing to her!”

 

“How romantic!” Dean shouted in agreement. “An ode!”

 

“An ode?” Neville questioned, wrinkling his nose. He wasn’t sure he knew any odes or any songs for that matter. What was the one about the old woman who lived in a shoe? Did that one count? She had a lot of bats and had to be evicted or something?

 

Neville wasn’t sure he could sing then again he never thought he could defeat Lord Voldemort so he figured he had a lot going for him.

 

“Singing is nice,” he said quietly. “Singing is romantic.” He was positive she was going to appreciate it. Then she would fall into his arms and the world would be right again.

 

“Alright, if we’re going to do this you really have to commit. Drink,” Dean demanded.

 

Dean bent down and pulled out three tiny bottles of alcohol that were hidden in his trouser leg. Neville thought it was a good hiding spot. The three opened their respective tiny bottles and chugged until the contents were gone.

 

Feeling hazier than before, Neville scratched his neck and stared up at the stars that were twinkling in the sky. The awning suddenly looked much further away than he previously thought. It was as if the entire building was moving from its spot before him.

 

Next to him, Dean burped and then scratched his neck, looking up at the night sky.  


“Bloody hell, you are a brave man.”

 

Neville gulped down the bile that was rising in his throat. He was beginning to feel rather sick since his current diet consisted of copious amounts of alcohol.

 

“What was that?” he asked loudly.

 

Seamus shrugged. “Nothing,” he grumbled, “clean out your ears. Hearin’ things. We’re singing tonight lads! Sounds grand. How about a broomstick?”

 

Neville gaped at him. He might have been drunk but he still had _some sense_ left in him. It had to be levitation. It was romantic and had they not seen him on a broom before? He had been celebrating his twentieth birthday when Harry convinced him it would be safe to teach him how to properly fly while he was drunk and wearing a blindfold.

 

He ended up crashing, _hard_ , and spent the week in St. Mungo’s.

 

“Levitation,” he said, voice cracking slightly, “will have to do.”

 

Neville clapped his hands together and prepared to brace himself for the trip in the air. He was convinced this was going to work. It _had_ to. His future wife was up in her room right now just waiting for him. If he had any luck Hannah would be his by the end of the night.

 

He was too busy daydreaming about Hannah he didn’t realize Seamus and Dean whip out their wands at the same time. He floated in the air, lopsided, and felt like he was being tugged in two different directions. They were going to tear his body into two. He wiggled about in the air, groaning and moaning, as the two cackled on the ground at his discomfort.

 

“You’re doing it Neville, you’re flying!”

 

Neville whooped in the air as the two closed the gap and he felt some pressure release from his limbs.

 

“He’s doing it, he’s really doing it!” Dean shouted from the air.

 

“Just like magic!”

 

“The greatest thing I’ve ever seen!”

 

“It’s like he’s floating on air!”

 

“Just like _magic_!”

 

Dean and Seamus were too busy cheering at their success they whipped their wands left and right and finally pointed them to the ground. Neville tried to desperately grip the awning in the air but his fingers slipped and felt himself start to tumble down.

 

He screamed as he crashed to the ground. His head started to instantly throb and he felt an immense amount of pain on his left side. The thorns from the rose bushes that had somewhat cushioned his fall were destroyed. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the confused faces of his friends who were peering over him.

 

“Is he dead?” Seamus asked, kicking his foot.

 

“Whoops,” Dean said with a grin, trying to contain his laughter as Neville groaned from the ground. “You think they’ll chuck us in Azkaban for this one?”

 

But Neville didn’t care what either of them were going on about or the pain that was getting worse by the second. As he stared up at the sky he had a clear view of Hannah’s window.

 

The light had turned on.

 

“Just get me to the top,” he said with determination. “Her room is right there.”

 

Dean and Seamus nodded their heads in unison and then held their hands out to help him get up.

 

“Dean’s just not the best with magic,” Seamus said as Neville shakily got up from the ground. “He’s always missing an eyebrow or something or other.”

 

Dean furrowed his brow and gave Seamus a hard look.

 

“I think you’re mixing me up with Harry.”

 

“I reckon that’s why Voldemort was always after him.”

 

Neville groaned as if to contribute to the conversation. The two boys turned their attention back to him and Dean sloppily slapped his back, trying to remove some of the dirt that was on him. As a second thought he grabbed a rose that had attached itself to Neville’s back. The red rose petals were squished but he tried to fluff them up and handed it to his friend.

 

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet*.”

 

Neville and Seamus stared longingly at Dean, their cheeks coloring slightly.

 

“I think,” Seamus said with a smile, “you’re successfully wooing me.”

 

“Just call me Romeo.”

 

* * *

 

 

After a ten-minute break, in which Dean pulled out a few more tiny bottles that were hidden in his trouser leg, the trio decided to drunkenly give it another go.

 

The fall was far out of Neville’s mind but he did wonder why there was dirt on his behind and pain in his lower back. He would also question the bruises while he showered in the dark tomorrow.

 

Neville reached out towards the awning as Dean and Seamus successfully levitated him after a handful of tries. He eyed her window with a steely expression and started to loudly hit it with his fist.

 

“Oi! Hannah Abbot, I’ve come to _woo_ you!” he shouted.

 

Seamus and Dean were shouting something from the ground but he couldn’t properly hear them. There was a buzzing in his ears and the wind was rather loud.

 

He knocked again trying to add as much force as he could. The light was still on and the curtains ruffled slightly from the inside. She had to be in there. She _had_ to hear him. Maybe if he was just a bit louder.

 

Tonight was the night. Where all of his dreams would come true. Neville would finally get the girl come hell or high water. He could _feel_ it in his veins.

 

“Hannah Abbot, open this window right now. I need to talk to you! I need to woo you! I need to sing to you and serenade you!”

 

At ‘serenade’ the curtains ruffled again. If it was entertainment she wanted it was entertainment he was going to give her.

 

“She’s not opening the window,” Dean shouted from the ground. “Do you think she’s downstairs? That’ll really ruin the plan.”

 

“We have a plan?” Seamus questioned. He was surprised they were so resourceful.

 

But Neville couldn’t hear them. He grumpily eyed the closed window and could swear he could see her eyes peering straight at him. He still had enough liquid coverage inside of him to reveal his feelings to her. It wasn’t until that moment he knew what he was going to sing to her, the one song he knew.

 

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy _birthday_ dear…”

 

“I didn’t know it was her birthday,” Seamus said from the ground.

 

Dean cursed next to him. “I didn’t get her a gift.”

 

His singing was off-key. It was terrible. If anyone was actually listening to it sober they would have been cringing and grinding their teeth. Neville tried to add some flair to it while in the air. He tried to make out the letters of her name almost like a cheerleader (though he didn’t know what that was) but instead he looked like he was trying to do the conga. There were too many limbs flying around and his voice was getting louder and louder.

 

“ _HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEEEEEAAAR H-A-N-N-A-H, HAPPY BIRTHDAY—“_

The window opened in one swoop and Hannah Abbot stared at him with an angry and unimpressed look on her face. Neville wiggled his body closer to the window and tried to position himself on the awning in what he thought was an alluring way.

 

“Have you completely lost your mind?” she shouted.

 

She looked so pretty when she shouted. Her nose wrinkled up and her face was flushed like she was dehydrated and needed water.

 

“Perhaps,” he said with what he hoped was an endearing grin. “Perhaps not. It’s so airy up here. I can taste it.”

 

“Woo!” Seamus shouted from the ground. “She opened the window!”

 

“Kiss her!”

 

“Touch her!”

 

“Squeeze her!”

 

Hannah growled. “Neville—“

 

“Hannah, I _like_ you.” He wanted to say love but he still had some sanity left in him. Even though he was almost certain he did in fact love her. She was after all going to be his future wife.

 

She rounded her shoulders and stared at him. It had never occurred to Neville that Hannah didn’t like him back.

 

“Neville, I need to tell you something,” she said hoarsely.

 

Nervous, Neville cursed, almost losing his balance on the awning.

 

“Crap!”

 

“He’s going down!”

 

“Who knows a cushioning charm!”

 

“Damn you, magic!”

 

On the ground, Dean and Seamus lowered their wands, frantically calling for help. Neville wheezed and gripped the ledge of Hannah’s window. His face was quickly turning purple as he tried to hang on for dear life.

 

Startled, Hannah reached out and gripped his arms, struggling to pull him inside her room. With effort on both their parts Neville tumbled inside her bedroom. He shouted in pain as he fell to the floor with little help from her.

 

Laying on his back, he tried to get his bearings, he paused to take a look at his surroundings. Her bedroom walls were a pale blue, she had a purple duvet with sunflowers on the floor and the room itself smelled like lavender.

 

“Are you alright?” she questioned, peering over him.

 

Neville gave her a lopsided smile from the ground with no intention of getting up.

 

“I am in your bedroom.”

 

This was _definitely_ going to win him some points with the boys.

 

He vaguely wondered if Seamus and Dean were still outside but weren’t too concerned about their well-being.

 

“Don’t sound so excited about it. What the hell is wrong with you?”

 

Hannah was fuming. She had her hands on her hips and was staring over him with a less than amused expression on her face. She vaguely reminded him of his Gran whenever she was upset with him.

 

“I’ve come to serenade you and make you mine.”

 

She pursed her lips. “Neville, I don’t _understand_ what is going on with you. I seriously think you have a drinking problem. I care about you but—“

 

At ‘care’ Neville peeled his upper body slowly off the floor. She cared about him? She _cared_ about him. Caring meant more than just liking a person. Caring meant she had legitimate positive feelings toward him.

 

He cocked his head to the side and gaped at her. His mind was still fuzzy from the fall and the alcohol so he wanted to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding her.

 

“You _care_ for me?” he didn’t quite understand what she was trying to say. “What?”

 

She rolled her eyes. Men really had one track minds.

 

“Of course I care about you Neville. Don’t be foolish but you would really need to clean yourself up. I mean honestly, you reek of alcohol and you have dirt on your bum. I might be a barmaid but I have some standards. I _won’t_ date a mess.”

 

Neville couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His head was spinning. He wanted to get up from the ground but he feared his equilibrium would be completely off and he’d crash into her nightstand or worse—her.

 

He raised his eyebrow because he couldn’t do much else. “Is this some sort of joke?” he questioned nervously.

 

Hannah shook her head, blonde hair swishing from side to side. “Unfortunately it’s not.”

 

“You, Hannah Abbot, like me, Neville Longbottom?”

 

That’s who he was after all wasn’t he? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. His mind felt foggy. Slowly, Neville picked himself up from the ground. He shook like a baby calf walking for the first time. Hannah reached out for him as he tried to take his first steps. He felt drunk, tired and confused.

 

“She likes me?”

 

“You’re really that drunk?” Hannah questioned, gripping the back of his shirt as he flailed his arms about.

 

“I’m supposed to be alone forever and Gran will never get the great-grandchildren she always goes on about.”

 

Hannah shook her head but Neville was none the wiser. He tumbled towards her bed and threw his body on it earning a yell from Hannah.

 

He shut his eyes as she began to protest and kept poking him to get up and go home.

 

“Neville?”

 

“You smell…lovely…” He rolled over onto his side and his snores began to quickly fill the room.

 

* * *

 

 

There was too much light coming from the window. Neville groaned and pulled the covers over his eyes. His Gran was at it again. What little brain cells he had left she was going to fry with the damn sun. He swore to himself he was never going to drink again.

 

He felt like his entire body had given up on him. His head hurt, his side ached and he swore his senses were going because he smelled oddly of grass.

 

He couldn’t remember all of the trouble he got himself into last night but he was sure once he pieced it together it couldn’t be good.

 

Neville groaned again and then tried to stretch his body out onto his bed to get a good assessment of his injuries. He nearly jumped when he felt a body next to him.

 

His mind started to race as he tried to process what that meant. A body? Had he…did he…did he have a one night stand? His heart thumped in his chest double time. Augusta Longbottom, because at this point she would disown him, was going to murder him. She would send him to an early grave if she knew there was a stranger in her home.

 

For the life of him he hoped it wasn’t Hermione. He always had a feeling she had a thing for him. He _did_ slay a snake after all.

 

Neville took a deep anxious breath and prepared to peek his head out and see just who the sleeping culprit was. On the count of three he poked his head out and stared at the person that was next to him.

 

Hannah Abbot was in _his_ bed.

 

He must have been dreaming.

 

He didn’t care if the sun was shining in his face and making his headache worse his heart soared in his chest. There was drool coming out of the side of her mouth, a pool of it on his purple pillowcase. She was gripping the purple duvet close to her body and her hair was strewn about. It looked like she needed a good combing and from the quick sniff he took it smelt like she needed a swig of mouth wash but he was not one to judge.

 

Neville sighed with content and snuggled closer to her. The pain he felt as he moved was worth it.

 

He didn’t even care that his sheets were suddenly purple. He closed his eyes and listened to her rhythmic snores.

 

* * *

 

 

Neville woke an hour later to the sound of a door slamming shut. He groggily opened his eyes and tried to piece together his surroundings.

 

Since when did he have a pink vase by his nightstand?

 

He groaned as he felt pain shoot up his entire left side and placed his hands on his eyes in protest against the sunlight.

 

“Gran, I think I’m dying.”

 

“He lives.”

 

Neville abruptly stopped moaning at the voice. That wasn’t his Gran that responded. It was _Hannah_. What the hell was Hannah doing in his bedroom? He hoped to Dumbledore that he was wearing something underneath his duvet. He shimmed in the bed and exhaled with relief as he felt the imprint of his clothes.

 

“What happened?” he questioned, taking his hand away from his eyes. He squinted, trying to take in the surrounding of the room and the person who was standing in front of him.

 

Hannah was wearing a white t-shirt and a black skirt, there was a quill keeping her brown hair up in a bun and she was holding a glass of water.

 

“Where shall I start,” she said drily, “the romantic midnight serenade or…”

 

As she spoke it all came crashing down on him. He remembered the drinks he had. The tiny bottles of alcohol that seemed to keep appearing out of thin air. Floating, falling…

 

Bloody hell.

 

His cheeks flushed from embarrassment. He didn’t know what was worse. The fact that he showed up at her home the night before or the fact that he was now sober in her bed.

 

“I need a drink,” he groaned.

 

Hannah sighed but walked towards the bed and handed him the glass. He greedily drank the water as she sat down on the edge of the bed next to him.

 

“Neville, what the hell is going on with you? This isn’t you. You’re not some drunk. I _know_ the drunks. I supply them with all the alcohol they want.”

 

Merlin, she was just like his Gran with all of the questions and disappointed stares. He just wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there forever. Plus, he reeked. He smelled like he had been rolling around in actual dirt.

 

It suddenly dawned on him that he was in _her_ bedroom and was sweating and decomposing on _her_ bed.

 

“You make my head go all loopy. I can’t think straight when you’re around. I get nervous and my hands start feeling like feet and I can’t form sentences around you. What are those anyway?” The words were tumbling out faster than he could even register what he was saying.

 

He liked Hannah, that much was obvious to the both of them but he lacked a certain confidence in the dating department.

 

At his obvious discomfort Hannah softened.

 

“Neville, I like you,” she said softly. Their eyes met for a split second before the two of them looked away, both red in the cheeks. “I just don’t like you like this. I like you sober.”

 

Neville vowed to himself he would never drink again. When he went home later that day he would empty all the liquor bottles in his house and give his Gran a sloppy kiss on the cheek. He’d tell her he was never going to touch the ‘juice’ again.

 

His head and heart were pounding. He couldn’t believe in his current state of his Hannah actually liked him.

 

“Really, for how long?” He couldn’t quite believe it. Neville was sure he was dreaming. He didn’t want to move from his current spot in bed. He was sure if he did he would wake up to his grandmother prodding him to get up and be a productive human being.

 

“It started in seventh year.”

 

Neville gaped at her. “S-seventh year?”

 

She shrugged, not meeting his eye, fingers circling the duvet. “Well, you got _tall_.”

 

“Tall? That’s absurd,” he said with a nervous gulp. This couldn’t be happening.

 

In the next minute Ron or Harry were going to barge in and she was going to transform into Dean or Seamus. This had to be the work of a polyjuice potion or something illicit. Maybe in his drunken state he had barged in on her and placed her under the Imperius curse.

 

His heart swelled as Hannah nervously put her hand out and gripped the tips of his fingertips. At first Neville couldn’t properly respond. His hands were sweating. His entire body was sweating from the pure nervousness he was feeling but then he moved his hand into hers. They were holding hands. To him it felt like pure magic.

 

“I see,” he said quietly. “Huh, so that’s what it feels like.”

 

He leaned back into his pillow, trying to make himself more comfortable. His head was still throbbing and his body still ached but there was a warmness that filled him that he never wanted to go away. Completely content he closed his eyes as he held Hannah’s hand.

 

Hannah cocked her head to the side and gave him a puzzled glance even though he wasn’t paying any attention to her.

 

“What does it feel like?”

 

“Joy.”


End file.
